


Trust In A Broken Thing

by SqueekaCuomo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2604530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqueekaCuomo/pseuds/SqueekaCuomo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the ring was broken, that could only mean one thing… Harry Potter was dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust In A Broken Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [citrus_lime](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=citrus_lime).



> Happy Erised, citrus_lime! I took two of your prompts and mooshed them together… This is the result. I know that some of the details are different, but that’s what happens when you moosh things. I hope you enjoy it. :)
> 
> \- To my wonderful, patient, amazing beta: THANK YOU. Really, thank you.

Draco stared at his outstretched palm. His skin appeared paler than normal, he thought. Maybe it was a trick of the candle on the small table next to him, the peaks and valleys of his hand catching the light at an odd angle. More likely, it was the dread and hopelessness that had taken root in his stomach only moments ago that had drained his normally fair skin of any color that it possessed. 

Either way, his hand looked skeleton-like, so frail and bleached, as he held it out before him, two halves of a golden ring lying on his palm. Looking at them, his throat constricted so painfully that he felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he may never be able to draw another breath again. If the ring was broken, that could only mean one thing…

Harry Potter was dead.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, savior of the wizarding world, was no more. 

I wasn’t possible, Draco told himself, desperately. Harry had survived _so_ much, how could he possibly be-

No. 

Draco refused to think it, because the more he thought it, the more real it would become and he couldn’t have that. He couldn’t live in a world where there was no Harry Potter. There had to be another explanation for why the ring had shattered. There just… there had to be.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Draco picked up one of the pieces of metal. When he had first seen it, it had sparkled brilliantly, reflecting the flickering candle light in their bedroom as if it were alive. Now the gold was dull and smudged, all of its brilliance gone. It looked - Draco hated to admit - dead. It was no longer the thing that connected them, that let them keep track of each other. Now it was just a hunk of worthless metal. The tiny lion that had prowled the sides, the lion that had made Draco roll his eyes, wasn’t even there anymore. It seemed to have vanished, most likely with any other enchantments that were tied to Harry’s magic. With Harry gone, the magic had disappeared, too. 

Draco gently placed the half of the ring he’d been examining back on his palm and picked up the other. Holding it up to the light, he was unsurprised to see that it looked just as dead as the first . He turned it, his eyebrows furrowing at the sight of the small ruby placed right in the middle. It was barely noticeable, more of a chip than an actual stone, but it had sparkled with as much energy and life as the golden band had. Now it, too, was broken in half, a visible fissure running straight through the middle of it. Draco ran his finger over the stone, trying to feel the crack. It was sharper than he’d expected, and he pulled his finger away when he felt a jagged piece prick his thumb. A small flake of the ruby, the piece that had stuck him, came out of the ring. Still embedded in his finger, the piece of bright-red stone looked like a drop of blood that had crystalized on his skin. 

With the other half of the ring still in his palm, Draco picked his wand up off the small table next to him and pointed it at the shard sticking out of his thumb. The piece pulled itself out of his finger and began to rotate in front of Draco. He watched it eagerly, trying to find some sort of life in it, something that would tell him it wasn’t true, that Harry wasn’t really dead. He didn’t care how big or small it was; he just needed some shred of hope he could cling to, if only for a little while. The ruby, so tiny, spun slowly, once, twice, without a single sign of anything. Draco was just about to give up and brush the piece of stone away when it caught the candle light, its broken edge practically glowing. The warm glow of red burned much more brightly than should have been possible for such a miniscule piece of ruby and Draco’s breath caught in his throat. It lasted for only a second, but it was enough for him.

He reached out, intending to grab the still-spinning piece of ruby, but jumped slightly when he heard the sharp _tap tap tap_ of an owl’s beak on the window next to him. Concentration broken, the sliver of red fell onto the wingback chair that Draco was perched on. He thought of Summoning it, but the owl tapped again and Draco sprang from the seat. It was a long shot, but what if it was a letter from Harry? Even just a tiny scrap of parchment would do. 

“Yes, yes, I’m coming.” Draco found himself pleading with the large brown owl waiting impatiently outside his window. Her huge, jewel bright eyes were staring at him accusingly, as if he had offended her by taking so long. Before he could pull the window all the way open, the owl swept inside, bringing a blast of chilly air with it. Perched on the back of the chair he’d just vacated, leg outstretched as she waited for Draco to take the parchment tied to it, the owl ruffled her feathers as if trying to shake off a chill of her own. 

For a second, Draco just stared at the proffered scroll. He could tell, without taking a step closer, that it wasn’t from Harry. The moving photos and columns of text marked it as that evening’s Prophet. Draco had known that receiving an owl from Harry was a long shot, but his stomach sank just the same. How long he stood there, mind whirling around the feeling of the broken ring lying on his palm, Draco didn’t know. It could have been hours or seconds. Time no longer seemed to matter. 

An irritated hoot from the owl brought Draco back to the present and he stumbled forward to her. With numb fingers he untied the scroll from her leg before dropping five knuts into the tiny brown pouch hidden beneath it. Satisfied that her job was done, the owl spread her beautiful brown wings and took off, pushing the window open the rest of the way as she flew through it.

The early December chill swirled into the room, gripping Draco and making him shiver. Not caring about the Prophet, he tossed it on the small table next to his favorite wingback before shutting the window and latching it. But even though it was closed, he could still feel the cold seeping over his skin, settling into his bones, as if he’d never be warm again.

Swallowing deeply, Draco returned to his chair, the forgotten bit of ruby calling to him. He would find it and…well, he didn’t really know _what_ he would do with it. Study it, perhaps? Try to see what type of enchantments it held? Most likely it would come to nothing, but Draco wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ let go of the hope that Harry was still alive somewhere out there.

The candle that sat on the table next to his chair flickered, casting its light over the tip of Draco’s wand. It was sticking out from under the copy of the Prophet that Draco had just tossed there. No longer bound by twine, the parchment had spread out, its headlines clear for Draco to read. What he saw there made him gasp. The yellowed paper read, in large black letters: AUROR POTTER’S WAND FOUND. MISSING, FEARED DEAD.”

Draco’s lips moved soundlessly as he read over the words again and again. The two halves of Harry’s ring tumbled from his hand, landing on the soft carpet, facing away from each other. Draco’s knees gave way not long after and he found himself falling, falling, falling…

**_Six months, one week, four days, and eight hours earlier…_ **

“I need you to trust me.” A simple request, but still, it set Draco’s nerves on edge. “Draco, did you hear me?” Harry repeated. “I need you to trust me. Do you?”

“Ye-” Draco cleared his throat, struggling to find his voice. “Yes, of course I trust you.”

Harry nodded, his bright green eyes serious. Sitting behind his desk, he looked so strong, so in control. No matter how fantastic an Auror he was, how skilled or experienced, Draco knew that they were stronger together, as a team. 

Draco had been Harry’s handler for nine years now and they’d formed a bond so deep that they when they worked, they practically became one person. One of Draco’s most cherished memories was the first time that he’d successfully assisted Harry. Up till then their partnership had been _rough_. But with that particular case, everything seemed to click into place.

They were assigned a case involving a Dark Wizard had been killing off muggles for dressing like witches and wizards on Halloween for years. The case had been tricky, taking Harry all the way to America while Draco stayed behind at Headquarters. They’d had to rely solely on each other’s strengths and make up for each other’s weaknesses in a way they’d never had to before. They’d communicated via ear bugs and floo, Harry reporting whatever he found to Draco and Draco using the information to try and track down any information on the killer for Harry. 

They’d worked seamlessly, each doing his part, each feeling confident enough to rely on the other to do theirs for the first time. It was like they’d become two different sides of the same coin, incomplete without the other. And in just two days, they’d managed to track the wizard down and turn him over to Azkaban. When Harry arrived at Headquarters, he gave Draco a look that solidified them as a team. It was confident and proud, possessive and fueled with fire. It was clear from that moment on that Draco wasn’t going to leave after his allotted year and that they would never be reassigned to other Aurors or handlers. 

Together they’d taken down more dark witches and wizards than the rest of the Auror department combined. Theirs was a track record to be envied. And to think Harry had threatened to quit the Aurors if they had to team up…

Since Voldemort’s downfall, Harry, Ron and Hermione had worked tirelessly to reenergize the Ministry. For Harry and Ron, that had meant working with the Aurors, sharing their experiences and implementing new procedures to make the department more effective. One such project was the Auror/Handler program, the brain child of Harry and Ron. 

Each Auror was paired with a handler who would monitor their Auror’s progress from headquarters and offer assistance whenever possible. Handlers were given the same trainer as Aurors, but instead of field training, they received intensive training in advanced spell work, research and communication. The handlers were an Auror’s eyes and ears in the office, responsible for keeping their Aurors alive. 

They used two-way mirrors, small ear bugs (a tiny beetle placed right inside the ear) to communicate with each other, and other new devices that George Weasley had collaborated on. The handlers were able to do research for Aurors in the field, offer advice on spells or enchantments, and were able to help get and keep their Aurors out of dangerous situations alive. All in all, it had become a very successful program. 

But when it had first been starting out, absolutely everyone, except Harry and Ron, had thought it would fail. If they hadn’t pushed so hard for it, the idea would have been happily forgotten about. But like a crup with a bone neither gave up, and very slowly the program began to take shape. Very few Aurors wanted to be taken out of the field in order to receive handler training, and others refused to be separated from the partners they’d spent years working with. In the end, Ron and Harry had offered to be the trial pair, Harry as the Auror and Ron as the handler. Kingsley, however, would hear nothing of it. Ron was too valuable to take out of the field, everyone had agreed on that. It was he who paired Harry and Draco, against both of their wills, together. 

According to Kingsley, he’d paired them up to show the wizarding world the importance of forgiveness and acceptance after the war. What he hadn’t announced was that it was actually part of Draco’s sentence for what he’d done (voluntarily or involuntarily) during Voldemort’s uprising. One year, Kingsley had said, one year and he was free to leave the Aurors, if that was what he wanted. It was that, or Azkaban for five years. There had also been one other caveat - if anything happened to Harry, Draco would be given a life sentence in Azkaban, complete with Dementor’s Kiss. No trial. No appeal. Just a one-way ticket to prison.

The choice had been easy. One year.

And at first, that was _exactly_ what Draco had planned - exactly one year and he would be out of there faster than a snitch trying to avoid Viktor Krum. Predictably, he and Harry had fought, both constantly and _viciously_. That’s not to say that Draco hadn’t deserved the broken nose the time he’d almost gotten Harry killed, but still, their fights within Auror headquarters were as legendary as their current partnership.

In the beginning, Draco had often wondered why Harry had agreed to partner with him - after all, why punish him, too? He’d never asked, but he’d heard whispers that Kingsley had offered Harry his own ultimatum – either work with Malfoy for one year or give up the program altogether. Draco didn’t know if there was any truth to the rumors, but he’d often wondered if the choice had been as easy for Harry as it had been for him.

Looking back now, Draco couldn’t pinpoint the moment things had begun to change for them, or when their partnership had begun to fall into place. The transition had been seamless, from enemies, to uneasy friends, to partners that trusted one another with their very lives, to lovers. Now they were completely inseparable. He often wondered if it was just that he and Harry had fallen in love, or if that was in the very nature of the relationship between Auror and handler. 

There, of course, was Weasley and Pansy, as unlikely a pair and Harry and himself, but what about the other teams? Had they grown so unbelievably close that it had turned into love, as well? He’d never seen anything hinting to other such relationships, but theirs was an office full of Aurors and handlers, people who knew how to keep secrets and keep them well. 

“I know you do,” it was Harry’s turn to clear his throat. The sound wasn’t uncommon for Harry, whose vocabulary was what Draco liked to call “interesting”, so it didn’t bother him or set off any alarm bells. 

The look of seriousness on Harry’s face, however, did. 

His eyebrows, just as unruly as his hair, were drawn together, making creases that were slowly becoming faint wrinkle lines. Draco used to chide him about scrunching up his face, worrying about how Harry would look in the future, but looking at him now, the faint lines around his eyes and a few silvery grey hairs, Draco couldn’t help but think that this older Harry was much more handsome than the younger version had ever been. This Harry was wiser, calmer, but still just as fiery as ever. 

“But Draco,” Draco stiffened, whatever was coming, it wouldn’t be good. Not with the way that Harry was looking at him now. “I need to know, do you trust me?” The question was simple, almost the same wording as a few moments earlier. But there was something else in it now, something that Draco knew he wasn’t going to like. Draco could feel himself tensing up, bracing for impact.

“With my life,” the words came out on a soft breath, almost as a whisper, as Draco sought Harry’s face. He willed himself to calm down, but couldn’t even manage to take a deep breath. “What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”

“I have to go away for a while.” Draco’s mouth fell open and Harry held up a hand to keep him silent. Why was Harry making such a fuss if all he had to do was travel for work? It’s not like it would be the first time. For some reason though, he still didn’t feel reassured. Draco forced himself to close his mouth, taking deep breaths in and out through his mouth in an effort to stay calm. “I’ve been requested to join the Unspeakables on a very important mission.”

Unspeakables. 

Mission. 

Work. 

Draco needed to focus on work and put his personal feelings aside. It was something they’d both learned how to do. It had taken a long time for them to learn how to compartmentalize their dual lives, Harry more than Draco, but they’d learned. When they were at headquarters, they were Auror and Handler; when they were at home, they were everything else. “Alright. What’s the mission? Why haven’t I been read in already?” Draco leaned forward a bit, preparing himself to learn the details of Harry (and most likely Ron’s) new assignment, still trying to force his worry away.

Harry sighed deeply, closing his eyes, he pulled his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Never, _ever_ a good sign. “Draco…”

“Yes?” Under normal circumstances, he would have gone to Harry, put a hand on his shoulder, but not now, not at work. So even though it killed him to do so, he stayed seated, not moving an inch, his breath coming in shallow puffs. 

When Harry didn’t respond, Draco prompted him, “Well? What is it?” It couldn’t be any worse than what they’d already handled together. And for Harry, it couldn’t be any worse than taking down Voldemort. So what was the problem? Why couldn’t Draco shake the feeling that this was going to be different, worse than anything they’d been through before?

“Draco,” Harry shoved his glasses onto his face, the arm causing the left side of his hair to stick out tragically. “It’s an undercover mission, _deep_ undercover.” 

“I fail to see the problem.” Draco forced himself to stay still in his seat even though all he wanted to do was jump up and crawl out of his skin. “We’ve done plenty of undercover missions togeth-”

“We won’t be doing this together.” Harry sighed deeply as if he’d been defeated. “I tried, _believe_ me, but we’re not allowed to have handler assistance for the mission, that’s how undercover it is. In fact, I’ll be completely alone… where I’m going. The other Unspeakables won’t even be there.” 

“No handlers? That’s preposterous!” There it was, the thing that had been eating away at him – Harry was going to be separated from him completely. Not just at work, or in the field, but at home as well. Harry was going to be gone from Draco’s life for…who knew how long.

This time, Draco did jump out of his seat, finally giving in to the desire to move. He began pacing their small office, and with each pass he made, it began to feel even smaller than normal, as if it were shrinking in on him. “It’s a death sentence! Do they want you to get killed? You can’t handle-”

“Yes, I can.” Harry’s voice was tired and Draco faltered slightly at the exhaustion in his tone. “That’s why they asked _me_.”

“What about Weasley?” Placing one foot in front of the other, he avoided bumping into the potted plant, before turning around and walking back the other way. “He helped you during the war. Surely he must qualify for this _super-secret_ ,” the words dripped sarcasm, “mission.” If Draco couldn’t be there for Harry, then at least he could trust the fact that he had Weasley to back him up. Draco and Harry’s partnership had only one rival and that was that of Weasley and Harry. If Harry was safe with anyone, it was him.

“I’m going in alone, Draco.” When Draco’s gaze snapped to Harry, Draco thought he’d find him looking back at him, defiance all over his face. He didn’t expect to find Harry with his head in his hands, as if he’d been completely defeated. 

“No,” he hissed.

“Yes,” Harry sighed. “It’s already been decided. I leave tomorrow.”

Draco gasped in shock. “What do you mean it’s been decided? That you leave tomorrow?” Draco stopped in front of Harry’s desk and slammed his fists down on it. Hard. “What about me?” His chest heaved and there was a long blond strand of hair hanging in front of his face that had somehow managed to escape the tie he had it in. He was acting like a child, but he couldn’t help it. This simply couldn’t be happening. He knew the types of risks Harry took in the field, Draco had saved him from a tight situation _many_ times. What would Harry do without him - or Weasley - for backup?

“You will be put on paid leave until my return.” Draco’s eyes narrowed and Harry hastily looked away.

“That is _not_ what I meant and you know it, Potter.” Draco ground out through gritted teeth, Harry’s surname slipping through with his anger. He regretted it the instant he said it. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Harry still wouldn’t look at him, but Draco could see the hurt and anger in his dark green eyes anyway. He apologized, echoing Draco’s own. “I didn’t ask for this, you know. If I had _any_ choice, I woul-”

“No, you wouldn’t have. You’d have rushed straight into this, like some sort of…” Draco’s chest was heaving now, a heavy sense of dread settling over him. In that moment, he was so angry, so scared, that he couldn’t stop himself. Even as the words flowed from his mouth, he knew that he didn’t mean them. He just couldn’t stop. “Some sort of foolish Gryffindor trying to save the day, when really, you’re just going to end up getting yourself killed.” Why, why, _why_ couldn’t he stop himself?

Finally looking at him, Harry’s face was its own mixture of anger and the worst thing that Draco had ever seen there…disappointment. “Are you quite finished?”

Was he finished? Was Draco’s pointless, ridiculous, cruel tirade over? He wished that it was, but the horrible look on Harry’s face cut him to the quick. He wanted to apologize, to sit down and work through whatever was coming, but he just couldn’t. Instead, he looked at Harry and said, “Yes, Auror Potter, I’m finished,” before walking out of the office and apparating home.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

“Malfoy!” Draco didn’t bother getting up off the floor. It wasn’t that he’d fainted, he’d never truly lost consciousness, but the shock had taken over his body for long enough to drop him to the ground. Now he was sitting on the plush rug that he and Harry had picked up in a muggle antique store they both loved, his back pressed against the wingback chair he’d been sitting in. It wasn’t the most dignified of positions, but he didn’t feel inclined to move, no matter how obnoxiously Weasley was calling to him. “Malfoy, you prat, where are you?” Malfoy rolled his eyes. He definitely wasn’t answering now.

That didn’t matter, though, as the next thing Draco knew, Weasley was bounding into the room, his Auror robes askew and his tie half-undone. He looked a mess - like someone who’d just lost their best friend, Draco thought bitterly to himself. “Malfoy!” Weasley all but bellowed, “What are you doing down there?”

“I’m fine,” Malfoy waved off Weasley’s attempts to help him off the floor, unsteadily raising himself up and dropping into the chair. “I mean…” His breath caught on the words.

“You saw the Prophet.” Weasley’s face turned almost purple, clashing horribly with his fiery hair. If Draco had been in a better mood, he’d have made a joke about it. “I _begged_ them to let me tell you before the story broke. Just wait until I get my hands on that Skeeter woman. I am going to…” Whatever Ron was going to do to Rita Skeeter, Draco tuned out, his thoughts going back to the paper. Harry. Harry was… 

“Did you hear what I said, Malfoy?” Draco looked up and was shocked to find Weasley staring at him, his face now ghostly white under all his freckles. He looked as if he’d lost all of his steam. 

“No, I’m sorry. I-” Malfoy opened and closed his mouth. The words were there, but his voice was not. 

“Malfoy, I…” Weasley seemed as at a loss for words as Draco was. It was then, as he stared at the redhead, that Draco realized something – he wasn’t the only one who was in pain or upset right now.

“Ron,” the name sounded awkward coming from him; despite the friendship they’d forged over the years, they still referred to each other by their surnames. But right now, that felt wrong - it was just too impersonal. “I’m so sorry.”

Weasley turned away from him, looking anywhere but at Draco. Draco didn’t push him, or try to force him to turn around. Everyone dealt with pain in their own way, and if Weasley needed a moment, then Draco would give it to him.

When Weasley turned back around, his face was a mask of determination. “I don’t believe he’s dead. I’d feel it if he were.” He placed his right fist over his heart, his jaw set. “We have to find him.”

Draco didn’t tell him about Harry’s split ring. 

He vowed to himself that he never would.

**_Six months, one week, four days, and four hours earlier…_ **

Since apparating home from the office, Draco had gone over and over the scene in his head. Harry had been tapped for an undercover mission without his handler’s knowledge and he would be leaving in the morning. There hadn’t been any discussion or preparation, professional or private, and Draco was supposed to be perfectly fine with it all. He was supposed to just let his Auror walk into a dangerous situation without any sort of backup and he was supposed to let his boyfriend walk away from him, with barely a goodbye. 

Well, that just didn’t sit well with Draco.

And in the hours since arriving back at the flat that he and Harry had shared for the past eight years, Draco had come up with approximately ten different speeches. Each was perfectly articulate, expressing his anger and indignation. Some were purely business related, all the reasons an Auror, no matter how skilled, shouldn’t walk into a situation without backup. Some were pleas of a completely personal nature, enumerating why Draco wasn’t comfortable with his boyfriend going away to an unknown location without any form of contact. Then there was the one - the best, in his opinion - that combined the two extremes. It was a mixture of anger and worry, emotion and reason, a blend of their work together and their personal lives. Draco had gone back and forth, examining all of his options, but in the end, he kept coming back to that speech in particular. 

Late in the day, when afternoon was shifting into evening, Draco poured himself a glass of firewhiskey and waited for Harry. If things went like they normally did on a “boring” day, Harry should be apparating into their flat momentarily…

But he didn’t.

Draco slowly drained his glass, waiting for Harry to arrive. The sun outside was slowly sinking, the brilliants reds and golds giving way to darkness, and still Harry didn’t arrive home. Worry settled into Draco’s stomach and he tried to tell himself to calm down. Harry was leaving for an important mission the next day; he was probably just undergoing some last-minute preparations at the office. It was normal. 

But when it got to be around midnight and then one in the morning, Draco gave up and headed to bed. A very large part of him wanted to stay up as long as it took, to be able to speak with Harry, but the part of him that was still seething, that was still worried and scared…that part forced him to wash out his long-empty firewhiskey glass and head to bed. He would just talk to Harry in the morning before he left, even if it meant waking up at the crack of dawn. It would probably be better that way, he told himself; they could both calm down a bit. 

Draco didn’t know how long he’d been asleep before he felt the bed shift. He felt himself being pulled out of his slumber as Harry slid behind him, wrapping strong arms around his waist. A heavy sigh escaped from Draco and he felt himself settle into the embrace. It felt so perfect and normal that he drifted off easily, barely catching what Harry was whispering to him. 

When he woke up in the morning, he could vaguely recall Harry apologizing to him over and over as he kissed the back of Draco’s neck. Harry, whether Draco had dreamt it or not, had begged him not to be angry and promised to come home. He’d held onto to Draco with all of the strength he possessed, admitting that this particular mission scared him. He had whispered to Draco that when he got back, because he _would_ get back, he was going to grab hold of him and never let go. How much of this was real and how much was simply Draco’s imagination, Draco didn’t know. What he did know was that he was going to take advantage of the time he had left before Harry had to leave, even if that was only a few minutes. He’d acted absolutely horribly the day before and he didn’t want _that_ to be their last conversation before Harry left. 

A quick search of their flat, however, revealed that Harry was already gone.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

When Weasley had declared that he and Draco find Harry, Draco hadn’t been comforted, per se. But it had given him a mission, something to focus on _other_ than the empty bed he fell into at night. Together they searched everywhere they could think of, from the most obvious (Diagon Alley) to the least likely (New Orleans). Every time they apparated back home, Draco felt his hope chip away just a little bit more. The Prophet had continued to run ridiculous articles about Harry’s disappearance, even going so far as to feature interviews with wizards who claimed to be the last ones to see Harry alive. Draco didn’t believe a single one of them, but it didn’t really matter if they were true or not. The stories were raking in galleons for the Prophet and he knew from experience that the paper had no qualms about the validity, or the insensitivity, of their stories. Rita Skeeter, who still worked there, was proof enough of that.

Worse yet, he had been called in to Kingsley’s office just the other day. 

Draco had thought that he had an update about Harry for him - instead, it was to talk about assigning him to a new Auror and preparing a memorial service for Harry. It seemed like everyone - everyone except he and Ron, that is - had given up on Harry, more comfortable to presume him dead than to search for him. Draco had expected the whole department to go in search of Harry - and at first, they did. But as time wore on, the Aurors were reassigned, sent out on different missions. Draco hated to admit it, but he wasn’t surprised. More had been done for Harry than any other Auror who had disappeared, but he still hated it. Draco knew that no matter what, he wouldn’t give up, and neither would Weasley. They would search until the end of time for Harry.

One not-so-special day, Draco was walking to a small muggle bistro that he and Harry frequented, when he spotted someone with a mop of shaggy black hair and unmistakably green eyes. 

**_Six months, one week, four days, and… To be honest, Draco has lost count of the hours…_ **

Gone.

Harry was _gone_.

How, _how_ had Draco let this happen? How had he let his stubbornness and pride take over? Oh, he knew how, he thought bitterly to himself. Stubbornness and pride had always been his downfall; it was as bred into him as his pale skin and blonde hair. It would _always_ be there, no matter how hard he tried to change it. One could use all of the cosmetic potions and hair charms they wanted, but at the end of the day, they would always wear off, revealing what was hidden underneath. 

Draco sat down on Harry’s side of the bed and pressed his hand into Harry’s pillow. It was cold, so cold. How long had Harry been gone already? How long had they been separated without Draco even knowing it? The thought sent a shudder down Draco’s spine. Sitting there, looking at the place where Harry should be, Draco felt empty. Even the despair he’d felt during sixth year didn’t compare to what he was feeling now. It was like all his insides had been scooped out with a sharp knife, leaving nothing behind but a shell of himself. 

Taking in a deep breath that sounded more like a sob, Draco laid down on Harry’s pillow, breathing in the scent of him. He pulled it closer to his body, wishing that, for just a second, he could believe it was Harry there with him and not a sack of feathers. But he knew that no matter how hard he wished, Harry wouldn’t appear.

“Oh, Harry,” Draco whispered. He slid his arm under the pillow, wanting to pull it closer to him, but when his fingertips brushed against what felt like a small scroll, he pulled his hand back. “Harry…” Draco shot up and pulled the pillow away, tossing it carelessly to the floor. 

The pillow gone, Draco found the scroll his fingers had brushed and a small box with a dark green ribbon tied around it. With a shaking hand, he reached out for the note. Tied with the same emerald ribbon as the box, it was tiny enough that even the smallest of owls could carry it. The size of it made Draco wonder just how many words Harry had been able to fit on it in his messy scrawl. The letter could rival the length of _Hogwarts, A History_ and it still wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him. With shaking hands, Draco slid the binding off the end of the scroll and unrolled it.

The second the parchment was open, Harry’s warm voice poured from it. Draco almost dropped it in shock, but managed to hold on as Harry’s handwriting appeared on the yellowish paper along with his voice. _”Draco -”_ Harry said and Draco felt his throat tighten up. _“I didn’t want things to be this way. I tried to get Kingsley to let me read you in, to let us work together. I did, I really did. Believe me,” Here, Harry paused and Draco could practically hear him trying to swallow down his emotion. _“Please.”_ The words on the page faded as Harry took a deep breath that Draco found himself echoing. “I believe you,” Draco whispered, because he did. He really, _really_ did._

__”I was hoping that last night would go a little differently,”_ Harry continued, _“but I can’t say I’m surprised. You have always been a stubborn git, Draco Malfoy.”_ Harry laughed and Draco found himself laughing with him. _“There’s so much I want to say to you, I was going to say it all last night…” Harry’s voice trailed off and Draco felt shame at the way he’d acted creeping through him once again. _“But I, uh… I’m not going to say it here, not like this. Feels too…final.”_ Harry paused and Draco imagined him rumpling his hair, the way he always did when he was flustered or upset about something. _“Just know that- that I love you, ok?”_ Those words seemed to linger on the page longer than the rest, like there was more magic, or maybe heart, in them. Draco reached out, his fingers brushing over the “L” in love as it finally began to fade. “I love you, too” he said to the parchment, even though he knew that Harry wouldn’t be able to hear it. __

__For a moment, Draco just sat there as Harry’s last quill strokes faded from view. He waited so long that he figured that that was the end of it. He was just about to roll it up, when he heard Harry’s voice again. _”There’s something else there. Go on; open it if you haven’t already.”_ Harry chuckled softly and Draco rolled his eyes, but picked up the box anyway. Normally, he’d have gone straight for the gift, leaving the note for last. But the promise of seeing Harry’s handwriting, or getting some sort of message from him, had been much more important than a sparkling trinket. Hearing Harry’s voice had been a gift itself, one that was more precious to him than anything else in the world._ _

__Not daring to let go of the letter with both hands, lest its magic dissipate, Draco reached out for the box and untied the ribbon with one hand. He kept waiting for Harry to speak again, but it was like he was waiting as well. The green strip of fabric fell easily away and Draco pulled the lid off of the small silver box. Nestled inside, on a delicate swath of cotton, was a golden ring on a long silver chain. _“Pick it up, Draco,”_ Harry whispered to him gently. _ _

__As he pulled the ring from the box, the chain tinkled softly. When he had it all the way, Draco inspected the ring. It was a simple gold band that was set with a very small, almost miniscule, ruby. It was handsome, in its own way, but hardly something that Draco would normally be attracted to. _“Just give it a moment,”_ Harry said. _”It shouldn’t take long for the charm to activate.”_ _ _

__Not long after Harry said it, a tiny lion came sauntering around the edge of the band. It was nothing more than a black outline, like a drawing that had yet to be colored in, but it was very clear what it stood for. A Gryffindor. Harry. Draco rolled his eyes dramatically before he remembered that Harry wasn’t actually there to see him do it._ _

__The tiny lion, however, did. It stopped its pacing around the band and took a seat next to the ruby. He stared at Draco, who stared back. After a moment, the lion winked lazily before opening its mouth and yawning widely. Draco watched him, wondering what was going on. Was this supposed to be some sort of cute parting gift? Or…_ _

___“What’s he doing now? I mean…”_ Harry’s voice trailed off, like he was searching for the right words for what he wanted to say. _“What am_ I _doing now_?” Draco’s eyes widened as he stared at the sleeping lion, realization dawning on him. _“I knew that I wouldn’t be able to have any contact with you, but at least this way…You’ll be able to keep an eye on me, sort of.”_ Draco turned the ring over in his hand, inspecting everything from its curves to its color. _“It’s a spell that Ron and I have been working on for Kingsley, another way for handlers to keep track of their Aurors.”_ The smile in Harry’s voice was obvious and Draco smiled softly as well. This truly was an impressive bit of magic. _ _

___“We’ve only managed to successfully spell two rings so far. The one you’re holding and the one I’ve got around my neck right now.”_ He sounded shy, and Draco knew that it was his lover speaking and not his Auror. _“It’s, um, silver with an emerald and a snake.”_ Draco snorted. Their Hogwarts days were long behind them, but they still loved to tease each other about their houses. _“This way I’ll be able to keep an eye on you, too.”__ _

__Draco felt his heart tighten at thought of Harry, wherever he was, looking to his own ring to see how Draco was doing. He couldn’t help but wonder if Harry was staring at it now. What was the snake that represented him doing? Looking at a miniature piece of parchment? Or perhaps staring at a tiny outline of the ring that was sitting in Draco’s palm?_ _

__He watched as the lion lay down and fell into a nap, tiny, comical z’s floating about his head. As he stared at the sleeping lion, its chest rising and falling peacefully, Draco wondered how accurate or detailed their actions could really be. A snake, after all, didn’t have hands, so it couldn’t show that Draco was holding something. And a lion couldn’t speak, so it couldn’t show if Harry was talking to someone, or casting a spell._ _

__As if Harry had been able to read his mind, Draco heard him say, _“The spell is still pretty crude, it won’t be able to show you exactly what I’m up to, but it’ll give you a general idea. It’s the best we’ve been able to do. It’s all I was able to give you. Honestly, Kingsley would probably hex me into oblivion if he knew.”_ Harry laughed, delighting in his mischief. Clearing his throat, Harry sobered up quickly. _ “Draco, just promise me you’ll be safe. I’ll be home as soon as I can. I love you.”_ He paused, before adding, _“always.”_

Draco’s eyes stared at the words hungrily as they slowly disappeared into the yellowed paper. That was it, the end of the message, the last time Draco would hear Harry’s voice or see something written in his messy scrawl. Something new, anyway. When the final word had completely melted away, Draco let the paper slip from his hand. He knew that enchantment was gone, that the message wouldn’t replay. Now it was just back to being a spare piece of parchment that was waiting to be written upon. 

The ring sat in his palm, the lion still fast asleep, having barely moved at all. Draco wondered where Harry was that he was asleep; it was, after all, morning. His mind wanted to run through all of the possibilities, wanted to do whatever he could as a handler protecting his Auror. But he shut it away, left those thoughts for another day. Right now, he was the most important thing he’d ever been – Harry’s love. Nothing in his life, not being a Malfoy or a Death Eater, could ever compare to that.

With the greatest care possible, Draco took hold of the chain and slid it around his neck. After one last look at the sleeping lion, he slid it inside his shirt. The gold felt heavy and warm against his chest, just like Harry always did.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Draco stopped cold, his heavy breaths misting in the chilly air. “Harry,” he whispered. Draco and Weasley had searched and searched. Even now, Ron was off canvasing some distant country that had absolutely nothing to do with Harry. But that was what they did. Once they’d run out of spots that seemed like a place Harry would go, they’d spread their sights further, going as far as Japan to look for Harry. How had they managed to miss him here, in muggle London?

Frozen by shock, Draco’s mind reeled. Harry, his Harry, was walking out of a small muggle magic shop, of all the places in the world. The store, Mystical Marv’s, seemed to cater to muggles who believed that they possessed real magic. From what Draco could make out, the window display was filled with crystal balls (Trelawney would be in ecstasy) and ridiculous looking “wands” that were covered in small stones (Mr. Ollivander would be devastated). 

Harry was dressed in muggle blue jeans a heavy wool jacket. Draco could just make out the glint of a silver chain around his neck. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and his hair, as always, was a rumpled mess. He was carrying a large box that was filled with smaller bags bearing the gold logo of Mystical Marv’s, which all had small address labels attached to them. But other than the state of his hair, Harry looked healthy, _happy_. He looked like a handsome man running an errand for work, not like the savior of the wizarding world or Draco’s boyfriend. In fact, despite his appearance, he seemed like a completely different person. Draco couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but this wasn’t _his_ Harry.

As much as that should have mattered, it didn’t, at least not at that _exact_ moment in time. For that moment, those first few precious seconds in which Draco realized that Harry was there, in front of him, all that mattered was that Harry was _alive_. Draco’s chest heaved as his mind fought to catch up with his heart. Harry was still in the world, his heart still pumping, his green eyes still sparkling, but there was something, something that was very quickly beginning to worry at the back of Draco’s mind. It was Harry, Draco didn’t care what anyone said about everyone having a twin, but there was something wrong…

Harry crossed the busy sidewalk, talking care not to bump into anyone or drop his packages. If Draco didn’t act soon he would lose him, and Draco was _not_ about to lose Harry Potter again. Forcing his feet into action, he pushed his way past an old woman who shouted a profanity at him and a couple bickering over where they wanted to live once they married. Harry was just about to cross the street when Draco touched his elbow and called out, “Harry!” 

When Harry turned to look at him, his face was a mixture of confusion and subtle interest. “I’m sorry,” he said, smiling softly, “do I know you?”

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Draco would never understand how he had managed to apparate home without splinching himself to death. When he appeared in the sitting room, he didn’t even have an eyebrow hair out of place. It was something that he could ponder for the rest of his life.

“Weasley!” Draco called out as he tore off his cloak and tossed it over the back of the sofa. Normally, he would never treat such a beautiful item of clothing that way, but right now, the cloak didn’t matter. When Weasley didn’t respond instantly, he called out again, “Weasley!” In the months they’d spent searching for Harry, they’d developed a form of communication that allowed them to simply summon one another if they called out. It was a tricky bit of magic, one that was still temperamental, and they’d agreed to use it only as a last resort as the side effects were still… Well, the side effects weren’t exactly important if the spell worked when they needed it most, right?

With a violent pop, Ron Weasley appeared in the middle of the sitting room, a bowl with intricate blue designs in his hands and noodles trailing out of his mouth. “Whaaa?” he said around the noodles. “I ‘ave to,” he slurped up the noodles noisily, “eat.” Draco grimaced as Weasley chewed the food he’d all but inhaled. 

“I know.” His stomach growled loudly, proving Weasley’s point. Ignoring it, he said, “But I found him. I found _Harry_.”

Weasley’s brown eyes widened comically and his mouth dropped open, leaving enough room for an un-chewed noodle to escape and drop back into the bowl. The sight caused Draco’s appetite to disappear. 

“Wait…” Weasley swallowed a lump that Draco suspected was half-chewed, at best. “You mean you _found_ Harry?” It was clear from the look on his face that Weasley was trying not to get his hopes up, and Draco couldn’t blame him for that. They’d had a couple of disappointments before, thinking they’d found Harry only to realize they couldn’t have been any further from him. “I don’t…”

“I did,” Draco’s voice sounded pleading, as if he were begging Weasley to believe him. In a way, Draco realized, he was. He knew that if he were in Weasley’s place, noodles not included, he’d feel the exact same way – a desperate desire to believe, but afraid of getting his hopes up only to have them dashed to smithereens. 

“After all this time…” Weasley waved his wand and the half-eaten bowl of noodles vanished. Draco couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved to see it go. “How? Where?”

“In muggle London, working at a muggle’s excuse for a magic shop, no less.” Draco shook his head, still barely able to believe any of it. He shoved his left hand into his pocket, his hand clamping tightly around the two pieces of broken ring.

“And you’re sure it was really him? I mean, we’ve been down this road before, mate.” 

“I’m positive,” Draco said with such vehemence that he could see Weasley’s change of heart as it happened.

“Then we have to go and get him.” Weasley spun around as if looking for something - though Draco couldn’t guess what. After another quick revolution, he grabbed Draco’s cloak and tossed it at him. Draco let out an undignified _hmph_ when it smacked him in the face. “Let’s go. Where is he?”

Draco tossed his cloak back over the sofa and Weasley let out a yell of protest. “There’s something else…”

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

“Oi!” Weasley yelled at the small children who were pointing at him and giggling. “You there!” They laughed even more loudly. “What do you think…”

Draco shoved his friend unceremoniously down the sidewalk towards Mystical Marv’s. “Don’t bother with the muggle children. They’re nothing more than -” What they were nothing more than never made it out of Draco’s mouth because Harry was walking straight towards them, a paper coffee cup in his hand. Draco watched greedily as he blew on the steam that was rising from the cup before taking an experimental sip. 

That split second, that moment when Draco’s attention shifted from Weasley to Harry, however, allowed Weasley to jump in front of Harry. _“No,”_ Draco hissed. They’d come up with a plan to approach Harry, _agreed_ on the plan - and ambushing him was most definitely _not_ part of the plan. Draco thought for a minute about what to do, but before he could come to a decision, Weasley had thrown his arms around Harry.

Before Draco knew what was going on, Weasley and Harry were both shouting, arms were flying, and people were starting to gather round. “Make a Scene” had been at the top of the DON’T list, so naturally, that was exactly what was happening. From what Draco could tell, Weasley was trying to convince Harry that he was, indeed, Harry Potter, and Harry was trying to get away from him. Draco could hardly blame him; with long limbs flailing and fiery red hair and robes, Ron Wesley looked a bit of a madman on the muggle street. If Draco didn’t intervene, they were most likely going to end up in a muggle jail which, for many reasons, was simply not acceptable.

Pushing through the crowd, Draco tried to get Weasley’s attention. He, however, was still trying to get Harry to believe that he was someone else. When Draco had told Weasley that Harry hadn’t recognized him, he’d seemed to take it in stride, but now it was like he simply couldn’t deal with the idea of Harry losing himself. Draco understood exactly how he felt. 

That, however, didn’t help their current situation.

The second Draco got through the crowd, he felt himself being drawn into the scuffle. He could feel Harry brush against his back and Weasley reach around his side. Not caring how many muggles were watching, Draco grabbed hold of each of them, concentrated on home, and _spun_.

They landed in the middle of Draco and Harry’s living room, the force of their landing pushing the couch towards the fireplace and toppling over a small end table. The trinkets that had rested on it, a photo of Draco and Harry and a hand-blown snitch, broke with a tinkle of glass. 

“Get off me!” Harry yelled and shoved Weasley hard enough that he fell over the arm of the couch. He tumbled to the floor in a heap of robes. “I don’t know who you two think you are -” He gestured wildly from Draco to Weasley, who was trying to straighten out his robes. “But you’re both -” For the first time since apparating into the flat, Harry seemed to realize that they were no longer standing on the street in a crowd of muggles. “Where am I? How’d I get here?” He stared at Draco, recognition on his face. “Hey, you’re that bloke who stopped me! What’s going on? You’ve abducted me.” Harry’s green eyes widened in alarm and before Draco knew it, Harry had opened his mouth and was surely about to yell for help. 

Before he could make so much as a peep, however, Draco waved his wand and Harry froze. Draco took one last look at him before pointing his wand at Weasley, whose eyes widened in shock. “You, go back and modify everyone’s memory, now, before we get into trouble with the Ministry.” Without a word, Weasley disapparated. With him gone, Draco set about the flat, waving his wand in complicated patterns, casting spells that would block out sound, keep the windows from breaking and basically keep away anyone who, for whatever reason, was drawn to their door. He’d even cast an interesting charm on the front door that, should Harry try to leave, would just lead right around to the kitchen. There was no way for Harry to escape or to alert anyone. Draco had made him a prisoner in his own home… even if Harry didn’t know it was his.

Draco was just finishing up when Weasley returned with a loud _pop_. 

“Ok, everyone’s minds have been modified. They all think they saw a bunch of kids get in a fight.” Weasley sounded faintly amused.

“Let me guess,” Draco sighed, “the muggle children who were laughing at you?” He was not in the mood for this.

“Exactly.” The amusement turned to smugness and Draco felt himself getting angry. They had just kidnapped someone; this wasn’t the time to being playing pranks on muggles. “Now, what are we -”

“We had a plan, Weasley.” Draco slid his wand into the pocket of his robe – it was that or hex Weasley into oblivion with it. “A. PLAN.” He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “We were going to talk to him, lead him to a secluded alley, _if need be_. Not ambush him on the streets of muggle London and apparate him back here without his consent! We could both be fired for this!” By the end, he was yelling, but he didn’t care. The flat was warded against sound, no one would hear him.

“I know,” Weasley sounded uncharacteristically apologetic and Draco had to look up to see if he was hearing him right. “I just… I saw him there, and then he didn’t know me and I sort of…” He shrugged in defeat. “I sort of lost it.”

Draco felt about a million and one retorts, ranging from sarcastic to snide, rising up on his tongue. He could feel them itching to get out, to attack Weasley and slice him down word by word. It was a reaction to anger, stress and fear, Draco had realized years ago. He’d spent a lot of time working on changing the habit, and for most part he’d been successful. Sure, there had been times when he’d slipped, but they were few and far between. Right now, however, Draco refused to slide back into old patterns. This wasn’t the time for them to be fighting. They needed to work together to try and get their Harry back. So he took a shaky breath before saying, “I understand. It was stupid.” Ok, so he wasn’t perfect. “But I understand.” It wasn’t a lie, either. He really did understand the impulse to throw himself at Harry the second he saw him on the street.

“Knew you would.” Even though he said it, Weasley still sounded relieved, like maybe he’d believed that Draco wouldn’t understand after all. “So…” He gestured at Harry, who was still stuck in mid-yell. “What are we gonna do?” 

That was a very good question. What exactly _were_ they going to do with Harry? Their plan, their _brilliant_ plan, hadn’t gone any further than getting Harry back to the flat. They’d both been so worked up and excited about finding Harry alive that they’d decided to “figure that bit out later.” Well, now it was “later” and they were stuck. Some Auror and Hndler they were. 

“We, um…” Draco looked wildly around the flat, as if it could provide the answers he was searching for. The couch simply sat there, lifeless, and the toppled-over table and broken trinkets refused to offer up anything. “Ok.” The shattered mementos, that he could handle. Pulling out his wand, Draco moved the couch back into its normal position, righted the table and mended the picture and snitch. 

“Great,” Weasley said sarcastically. “That solves all our problems.” 

“Actually,” Draco searched for a way to make what he was about to say the truth. “It does.”

Weasley looked at him, clearly confused - a sight that made a tiny part of Draco smile smugly.

“We need to act normal, like nothing is wrong. _Hence,_ putting the furniture back where it belongs and mending broken objects. It makes if feel less like he’s been kidnapped and more like he’s been…”

“Invited for tea?” Weasley still didn’t look like he totally believed him, but Draco could see that he was beginning to understand what Draco was getting at.

Draco considered the idea. “Yes, essentially. We try and make him feel comfortable and at home. We will do what we were originally going to do.” Draco tactually refrained from saying, ‘before you screwed everything up’. “We talk to him, explain the situation.” Without realizing what he was doing, Draco pressed his hand against the broken ring in his pocket.

“You really think that that’s going to work?” 

No. But Draco didn’t say that.

Instead, he said, “I’ll try anything.”

Weasley nodded and gestured towards Harry. “Should we leave him like that? Or should we set him on the sofa?”

It was a surprisingly good question. What would be the best way to bring Harry out the enchantment that held him frozen? “Perhaps we should move him to the sofa, might soften the blow of being un-frozen a bit.” Draco had had the freezing charm used on him before. It sent the user into a state of suspended animation where they couldn’t even think. Coming out of it was like being hit by a train - hard, fast and incredibly painful. “Help me…”

Together, they moved Harry to the sofa, bending him like a doll, pressing him down so that his hips bent and knees flexed. They placed his hands on his lap and stepped back to assess their handiwork. Harry’s mouth was still hanging open in a silent scream. 

“Well, not much we can do about that, I guess.” Weasley was staring at Harry. “Whatever he was about to say is going to come out no matter what.” Unfortunately, Weasley was right about that. There was no way to mute that scream forever. At least he’d set up the wards.

“Alright,” Draco said, trying to regain control of the situation. “I am going to lift the charm. When I do, Harry is going to -”

“Scream like a banshee?” Weasley ever-so-helpfully interjected. 

“Yes, Weasley, that about sums it up.” Draco didn’t bother trying to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “After he’s finished, I will introduce us and explain what is going on.”

“And what about me?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I am his best mate, have been since first year.”

“Yes, that is true. But in case you haven’t noticed, you haven’t exactly been able to stick to our plans, thus landing us in this mess in the first place.” Weasley opened his mouth as if he were about to protest and Draco cut him off. “And more importantly, not only have we been living together for _quite_ some time, I am also his handler. It is my sworn duty to do everything I can to protect him from harm. I think that we can both agree that this situation falls into the realm of protecting him from harm.”

Weasley opened his mouth and closed it again, as if swallowing down a crushing reply. If he kept it up, Draco just might transfigure him into the fish he was impersonating. After a few tense moments of indecision, he nodded his head and said, “alright.”

“Brilliant.” The word was thick with sarcasm, old habits, it seemed truly did die hard. He knew that Weasley believed what he was saying, but he also knew that Weasley was impulsive and that he let his emotions rules his actions. It was one of his weaknesses as an Auror. “I’ll hold you to it.” Draco’s grey eyes flickered from Weasley to Harry before he leveled his wand at Harry and spoke the incantation.

He’d known it was coming, but the explosion of sound that came from Harry was deafening in the sealed-off apartment. His scream seemed to bounce off the walls and echo around them, as if looking for a way to escape. Unfortunately, there wasn’t one, and the sound lasted until it died a slow, painful death. Draco noticed that Weasley had covered his ears, something that he very much wanted to do, but…he was feeling stubborn and refused to do it, just to prove that he was tougher than Weasley.

“What kind of wards did you use?” Weasley was still yelling, even though the sound had dissipated.

Draco ignored him and took a seat on the coffee table across from Harry, who was looking at him as if he’d magically just moved from one spot to another in the blink of an eye. “What… Who… How…”

“Calm down,” Draco told him, holding out a hand to try and soothe him. “Everything is alright.”

“No, it bloody well is not!” Harry said, and Draco couldn’t argue with him because he was right - it bloody well wasn’t alright.

“My name is Draco Malfoy.” It felt strange, reintroducing himself to someone he’d known since he was eleven. It felt even more surreal to reintroduce himself to someone he’d professed his love to in more ways than one.

Harry’s eyes, shining in their alertness, snapped to Draco. He was so wound up by everything that he was practically humming with emotion. “Draco Malfoy” he stammered out, as if the words felt foreign to him. “What kind of name is that?” His brilliant graze raked over every inch of Draco, as if trying to figure out something about him.

Draco took a deep breath; this was not going to be easy. “It is a family name, one that goes back to the beginning of the Malfoy line. I was named after one of the very first Malfoys. I understand that it isn’t a…” Draco searched for a word other than “muggle,” and landed on, “common name, but it is mine, nonetheless.” 

Harry nodded, but Draco couldn’t tell if it was because Harry believed him, or he just wanted him to stop talking. Either way, Draco decided to press on. “This,” he gestured towards Weasley without looking at him, “is Ron Weasley.” Once again Harry repeated the name, but seemed to have an easier time accepting that someone was named Weasley than Malfoy. “It might not seem like it, Harry, but -”

“Why do you keep calling me Harry?” The tiny bit of calm that Harry had gained from learning Ron’s name seemed to evaporate. “My name isn’t Harry!” His confusion and fear was evident in every line of his drawn face and Draco was desperate to calm him down as quickly as possible.

“Ok, ok,” he said, as gently as he could. Draco had learned over the years that if Harry was upset, the best approach was to take a step back and be as calm as possible. He could only hope that this Harry would react the same way. “That’s fine. Tell me,” he tried to sound sincere and interested, “what is your name?”

Harry still didn’t look too sure of the situation, but he didn’t look like he was about to explode, either. It was a small but positive step in the right direction. “Ned. Ned McMillian.”

Draco couldn’t help but wonder where in the world Harry had gotten the name _Ned_ from. It was just so…muggle, so plain. He pushed the thought away for later, thinking that maybe it would help unlock whatever was going on with Harry. “Alright, _Ned_.” He tried not to stumble over the name, or act like it tasted like a violation of his love for Harry. “I’m very sorry that it seems as if we’ve abducted you.”

“You have!” Harry protested, and rightly so.

Draco nodded, which seemed to appease Harry. “I understand why you feel that way. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” 

“This? What _this_?” Draco watched as Harry looked questioningly from him to Weasley. Weasley, thankfully, kept his mouth shut. 

“It might not seem like it, but you do know both of us.” Harry looked like he was about to protest, but Draco plowed on before he could. “You’ve known us since we were eleven, actually. We all went to school together.” Draco motioned towards the photo he’d only just repaired and hoped that Weasley would understand and hand it to him. “I’m going to show you something,” Draco felt the metal frame, cold and heavy, press into his hand. He was pretty sure that that was the first time Weasley had understood any sort of subtlety. Wonders never ceased.

“I’m going to show you something and,” Draco’s eyes flickered down to the picture in his hand. It was a snapshot of the three of them, taken in a small pub just after they’d cracked a huge case. They were all smiling widely, more than just a bit tipsy. Harry had his arms around Draco’s shoulder and was whispering something into his ear while Weasley waved at the person taking the picture. Draco was in the middle, laughing at whatever Harry had just said. For years, Draco had tried to remember what Harry had said to him, but it had been lost to his drunken haze. 

The picture was cute, and the relationship between Harry and Draco was barely noticeable in it, for which Draco was happy. It was going to be one thing, showing Harry a moving picture, but he feared how Harry might react if he saw a picture of himself involved with another man. There was no telling if _Ned_ was gay or not. “I want you to not be alarmed.” He handed over the photo, his hand shaking slightly. 

Harry took the frame from him, eyes locked on Draco suspiciously. It was a look that he’d seen Harry give Dark wizards plenty of times. He was happy to see that little bit of the old Harry shining through, even if it was aimed at him. It meant that he was still in there…somewhere. Draco held his breath when Harry broke eye contact to look at the photo. He could tell the moment that Harry realized the figures in it were moving because his shoulders tensed up so much that they practically touched his ears. “This… It moves!”

“Yes,” Draco agreed. “That is a…special photo.”

Harry turned the photo over, as if the back of the frame would reveal some sort of electronic muggle device. When he didn’t find anything, he looked up at Draco again. “This isn’t possible. Photos can’t move on their own!” His gaze shifted to Weasley, as if he could provide a more reasonable and acceptable answer than Draco could. Draco just waited, hoping that even if Harry couldn’t remember his friendship with Weasley, it was still strong enough to fight through whatever was going on with him. 

Wesley walked around the couch, silently asking Draco if this was ok. Draco nodded slightly and he sat down next to Harry. Harry seemed to be more comfortable now that Weasley was sitting. Draco tried not to be hurt by that; after all, Weasley and Harry had been best mates since they were eleven - but it still bothered him that Harry wasn’t as instantly comfortable with him.

“Er…” Weasley shifted around on his seat a bit as he tried to figure out what to stay. He may have grown into a fantastic Auror and one of Draco’s closest friends, but he was still Ron Weasley, about as subtle as a frying pan to the forehead. “Well,” another shift that had Draco gritting his teeth in frustration. “Know the shop you work at and how it’s a _magic_ ” Weasley made ridiculously overemphasized air quotes around the word, “shop?”

Harry narrowed his eyes; if Weasley wasn’t careful, they were going to lose him. “Yeah…”

“Right, good. Ok.” He pointed at the picture in Harry’s hand. “That is _real_ magic, not like the junk you sell in the shop.” Draco couldn’t take it anymore; he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Oh well, he thought, there’s no turning back now. “We can all do magic.”

Harry looked at him as if he had slugs for ears. 

“You’re a wizard, Harry.” Weasley nodded as if that solved everything and Draco groaned again. “We all are.” 

Harry burst out laughing, like he thought this was all some brilliant joke. Draco wished it was, for Harry’s sake. That he could tell Harry they were playing a prank on him and good on him for figuring it out. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. There was no one to yell surprise, or to clap him on the back for realizing that they were just messing around. This was all very real, and very soon Harry would realize it.

Sooner rather than later, Harry’s laughter faded away and realization that they were serious clouded his features. “You’re mental, the both of you.” He jumped up off the couch and headed towards the door. Draco didn’t protest. Perhaps he would accept magic as the truth if he experienced more of it. The door handle turned and Draco closed his eyes in exhaustion as he listened to the door being pulled open. “Completely mental!” The door slammed shut behind him and Draco sighed. 

It didn’t even take two seconds before Harry was stomping his way purposely out of the kitchen, his face red and his hands in fists. When he saw that he wasn’t outside but instead standing in the exact same room he’d just stormed out of, his expression turned angrier, but also slightly afraid. “What have you done!?,” he yelled. 

For a moment, Draco had the burning desire to freeze Harry again, if only so that he could take a breath and recompose himself for the fight that was sure to come. But he knew that if he did, he would do it again and again, using it as an excuse to run away from the problem at hand, and he wouldn’t do that. He was tired and upset and they were getting nowhere fast. The time for hesitation was long gone, it was time for Draco to do what he did best, handle his Auror. 

Taking a deep breath that did absolutely nothing to help him feel better, Draco stood up. The picture of calm, he clasped his hands behind his back and leveled his eyes at Harry. “Whether you believe it or not, _Ned_ ,” oh, how he _loathed_ that name already, “magic is real. You are a wizard, just like Weasley and myself.” Harry’s face flushed with anger, but Draco didn’t care. Things had gone far enough. “Six months ago you left for an undercover mission on which you went missing. We,” he nodded towards Weasley, “have been looking for you ever since. I don’t know what has happened, but you seem to have had your memories replaced somehow.” He took another breath, this one through gritted teeth. Amazingly enough, Harry didn’t take the opportunity to interrupt. “I ask that you give us five days to try and figure out what has happened. In that time we will work with you, trying out different spells, potions, etc.” Harry’s eyebrows, above eyes wild with near-hysteria, rose. “If, at the end of that time, we aren’t successful in retrieving our friend,” Draco’s heart clenched painfully at the thought of not being able to save Harry. “-If we haven’t gotten our Harry back, you will be free to go. We will even make it so that you don’t remember a single moment of this.”

“What, are you going to wipe my mind? Use some sort of _spell_ to make me forget?” Harry laughed as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. 

In response, Draco simply stared at him. Even Weasley didn’t make a sound.

Draco could tell when Harry realized that they weren’t kidding and that the possibility of them altering his memory was very, very real. His laughter died away and his eyes flashed furiously. He looked so defiant, so determined, that Draco couldn’t help but be taken aback; it was an expression that he hadn’t seen on Harry’s face since their schooldays. “And if I refuse?” Harry challenged.

“There are ways of making you cooperate,” Draco spat out. If that was what it took to get Harry back, so be it. Draco would gladly go to Azkaban if it meant saving the one person he loved above all others. Behind him, Weasley groaned. Draco couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t back down, though. 

For his part, Harry seemed torn between trying to make a break for it again and being… To be honest, Draco couldn’t really make out the other expression on Harry’s face, and he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe that was Ned, maybe he was seeing Ned in Harry for the first time since finding him. He hated to think that maybe Harry was gone, replaced by this stranger. What would happen if they couldn’t get Harry’s mind back? Would he be stuck as Ned McMillan for the rest of his life? Draco thought of the broken ring, which he could feel pressing into his thigh. Harry was standing before him, but not. It was cruel to be so close, yet so far away from the man he loved. Draco could barely stand to think of living the rest of his life that way. 

They continued to stare at each other, Draco’s mind reeling, Harry’s - no, Ned’s - expression unreadable. 

How long they sat there, staring at each other, waiting for the other to show some sign of weakness, Draco didn’t know. It seemed like ages, but was probably only mere moments. The air crackled between them. Harry’s magic, magic that had been bottled up like a small child’s, was fighting to get out. It came as no surprise to Draco when the small glass snitch exploded in a flurry of particles so fine that they were nothing more than dust. Draco flicked his wand and the snitch reassembled itself before the sparkling powder even had a chance to settle. Another flick and he’d rendered everything in the flat unbreakable. 

Harry’s eyes were glued to the bauble that he’d just seen explode and repair itself. This time, Draco was able to read him like an open book. He was amazed, but more importantly, curious. Draco smirked - he had him. “Yes, Ned, you did that. You made one of my priceless possessions shatter without even touching it.” Truth be told, the snitch wasn’t even worth a sickle. It was the fact that Harry had given it to him that made it priceless. 

“Now,” Draco turned his wand over in his hand, his eyes leveled on Harry. “This, whether you choose to believe it or not, is your home. Or it _was_ Harry’s, anyway. You are free to do whatever you like in it. The kitchen is there,” a small wand wave and the kitchen door opened slowly. “The loo,” another lazy wave, another door creaking open. “And the guest bedroom, where you will be staying,” this one he merely nodded at, as the door was already ajar. “Make yourself at home -” He opened his mouth to say Ned, but the name simply wouldn’t come out.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

“Have you lost it, Malfoy?” Once they were outside of the flat, the cold winter air whipping through their hair, Weasley had rounded on Draco.

Draco stared at his friend. Had he lost it? Had he completely lost his mind since finding Harry’s ring broken? It was possible. Merlin, he hated to admit it, but it was possible. He’d spent the last six months in a state of suspended grief and hope, and more than once he’d felt like he’d been driven all but mad because of it. Had he, without knowing it, tipped over the edge and cracked? Or was he just doing what needed to be done? Was he using his position as Harry’s handler to push the bounds of what was acceptable? Or was he feeding off of his emotional connection, allowing it to control his actions?

Draco didn’t know. He looked away from the man standing across from him.

“I mean it,” Weasley’s voice softened a bit. “Are you alright?”

“I have kidnapped and am currently holding my boyfriend hostage in his own flat. And did I happen to mention that said boyfriend is _Harry Potter_ , savior of the wizarding world? And then there’s the fact that we can _not_ take him to the Ministry like this. If we do, the Unspeakables will get their hands on him, then who knows if we’ll ever see him again.” Draco’s voice was as bitterly cold as the winter wind, but it held traces of hysterical sadness that Mother Nature would never be able to touch. 

For what was probably the first time in his life, Weasley knew exactly what to say. Nothing. He pressed his lips together and squeezed Draco’s shoulder so tightly that it hurt. Everything that needed to be said was in that touch, and it caused Draco’s eyes to prickle with unshed tears. He blinked them back, unwilling to let a single one fall. How they had become friends, Draco would never understand, but it was moments like these that made him realize just how important Ron Weasley was to him. 

When Weasley pulled his hand away, Draco cleared his throat, clearing away what was left of the unshed heartache. Not just because Weasley was standing there with him, but because he simply could not allow himself the luxury. He hadn’t cried once since Harry’s disappearance. He’d swallowed down the emotion, forcing it to staying under lock and key because if he gave in - if he allowed even one tear to escape - that would be it. He would never be able to stop, he would never be himself again.

“You know that he’s not going to take this quietly, right?” Weasley looked worn out, his freckles standing out against skin drained of any color it had in the first place. Seeing him standing there, Draco realized just how tired he was, as well. Before, he’d been running on pure adrenaline. But now, with the night air filling his lungs and the silence of the street surrounding him, Draco felt dead on his feet.

“Of course.” Draco’s gaze flickered up to the window of his flat. Harry stood in the window, looking down at them, then disappeared. “He can try whatever he likes. I’ve locked the place up tighter than Azkaban. He can make as much noise as he wants, smash things, try to get out…” Draco shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t believe that he’d locked Harry away like some criminal. It was just… _how_ had life come to this?

Weasley nodded and Draco could tell that he was wondering the exact same thing. “Alright, then. I’m gonna head home for the night, let Pansy know that I’ll be taking the next, what was it? Oh, five days off.” Weasley ran his hand through his hair, making it look almost as bad as Harry’s. “I’ll be back tomorrow with food and supplies, ok?” 

Draco simply nodded. 

Not long after, Weasley disapparated with a faint pop, leaving Draco alone on the sidewalk, the cold air seeping into his aching bones.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

That night, Harry did everything he could to tear the flat apart. Draco lay in bed, listening to things being torn and ripped, smashed and shattered. Doors and window were rattled, furniture was overturned. Harry screamed and yelled until he was hoarse.

When Draco walked into the living room in the morning, feeling even more exhausted than he had the night before, he was unsurprised to find that it looked exactly as it had the night before, not a thing broken or out of place. He _was_ surprised to find that Harry was fast asleep on the couch, his arms crossed over his chest protectively.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

****  
_Day One: Spells, charms and hexes…_  


“This is absolutely mental,” Harry muttered none-too-quietly under his breath for what felt like the millionth time. Draco chose to ignore it, continuing on with what he was doing. 

For the past two hours, Draco and Weasley had been trying every charm, spell and counter curse, from the most rudimentary to the most complex. The most they’d accomplished so far was making Harry sneeze. With each failed attempt, Harry would roll his eyes or make some sort of sarcastic remark about the validity of their attempts. 

More than once Draco had been attempted to snap at him or prove to him just how real magic was. But through some minor miracle, he’d managed to keep his mouth shut. He just kept telling himself that this wasn’t Harry, this was some stranger speaking. It helped a bit, but it didn’t take away his desire to hex Harry’s mouth shut for the rest of the day.

When lunch time arrived, Draco gratefully retreated into the kitchen, leaving Weasley and Harry alone. Draco was exhausted; physically, mentally, and emotionally. But that wasn’t it; he had put so much focus and energy into the spellwork on Harry that even his magic appeared to be worn out. It was a feeling that he’d never experienced before and one that he never would have thought possible, but a simple wave of his wand proved it to be true when only a couple of feeble silver sparks erupted from the tip.

Sighing, Draco decided that lunch would help everyone. It might not solve all of their problems, but it would help. With his magic running low, Draco decided that some simple sandwiches were the best he could do. It wasn’t what he was craving, but he’d have to make it work until he could handle more complicated spells. As it was, charming the knife to slice and the bread, meat and cheese to stack were proving to be too much for him. In the end, he found himself spreading on Harry’s favorite pesto sauce and gathering drinks by hand. It was a humbling feeling, not being able to use magic for such simple tasks. For the first time in his life he almost understood what it must be like for muggles, and he hated it. 

After grabbing a bag of crisps, another of Harry’s favorites, he gathered everything onto a tray and headed back into the living room. He was shocked to find Harry and Weasley sitting on the sofa, chatting comfortably. It was like first year all over again, their instant and easy friendship, while he and Harry had a current of animosity between them. Worse yet, Draco once again felt like that eleven-year old boy extending his hand in friendship only to have it slapped away. 

Draco tried to swallow his feelings of jealousy and anger as Harry looked him over. Unlike yesterday, or even this morning, his gaze wasn’t as full of anger, which was a relief. Why Harry should feel that way towards him when it was Weasley who ambushed him on the street, though, was a mystery to Draco. 

“I’ve got lunch,” Draco tried to sound relaxed and cheery despite the bone deep weariness that had crept through him with every step. “Just sandwiches and crisps, but-” Draco hadn’t even set the tray down before Harry reached for the bag of crisps and Weasley grabbed two of the sandwiches. Well, Draco thought to himself, at least his appetite hasn’t changed. 

Taking a sandwich and a bottle of butterbeer for himself, Draco pulled his wingback chair over by the couch so that he could join the conversation. As he moved the heavy chair by hand, he could feel both Harry and Weasley watching him. He kept his back to them for a moment or two longer than was really necessary, wishing they’d look away. He hated the fact that he had to do it by hand rather than magic, and he could just imagine what they were thinking. 

“I hope that they’re to your liking,” Draco tried to ignore the way they were watching him. Weasley looked concerned - it was clear that he knew something was wrong - whereas Harry looked curious. Harry and curiosity always spelled trouble. Once he locked onto something, he was like a dog with a bone. 

“So,” Harry said, reaching for a sandwich. “If you’re a _wizard_ ,” there was so much skepticism in that one word that Draco could practically cut through it with a knife. “Why didn’t you just magic the chair over here?” He waved his hand around, as if tracing the path the chair had taken from the window to its current place by the sofa. A glob of pesto sauce was threating to fall out the end of his sandwich, right onto their expensive sofa, and Draco felt himself tense up. Sure, it could easily be cleaned with magic, but that wasn’t the point. But just as it was about to fall, Harry shoved the drooping end into his mouth. Draco thought that the taste of Harry’s favorite sauce might distract him, but as soon as he began chewing, he looked at Draco expectantly. 

“I chose not to, that’s why.” It was only partly a lie, he _had_ chosen not to expend any more of his magic in an effort to move the chair. Harry didn’t need to know just _why_ he’d made that choice.

Weasley, however, did seem to need to know.

Draco caught Weasley’s concerned eye and gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. He would talk to him about what was going on, but not right now, not in front of Harry. It was bad enough, having to do things the muggle way, he didn’t need Harry, who was trying to hold onto his skepticism, to know that his magic was failing as well. That would only lead to more problems. Weasley got Draco’s message and responded with a tiny nod of his own.

“Well, uh,” Ron swallowed a huge bite of a sandwich, wincing as it went down. “How are you feeling, Har…I mean Ned.” Draco envied Weasley’s ability to call Harry _Ned_ with a straight face.

After unscrewing the cap on his butterbeer, Harry shrugged. “I feel exactly the same.” He took a deep swig of the drink and moaned. “Wow! What is this stuff?” Harry looked at the label on the bottle, trying to figure out what he was drinking. “Why have I never heard of it before? Bet you have to get it from a specialty shop, huh?”

Draco felt his irritation bubble up. He wanted to yell at Harry, tell him that he’d had it _many_ times before. He wanted to tell Harry that he was an incredibly gifted wizard, that he was loved and respected by the wizarding world. Draco was desperate to reach out and touch him, tell him that they were in love, that they lived together. But he couldn’t. He had to keep it all inside, lest he make a bad situation even worse. So, instead of giving in to his feelings, he pressed the heel of his hand against his thigh, feeling comforted by the familiar feeling of the broken ring there.

Once the irritation faded away, Harry’s words sank in. He felt _exactly_ the same. All of their work, all of the spell casting… it had been for nothing. They were no closer to having Harry back than they’d been the night before. Draco hadn’t expected it to be that easy, of course, but to hear it out of Harry’s mouth… He couldn’t help but feel defeated. 

If Weasley felt the same way, he didn’t show it. “No matter! We’ve only just begun,” he said. And he was right, they had only just begun. But they only had five days and they were halfway through the first. It was possible that whatever magic had been on Harry was so complex that it would take years to break through. It was also possible that Harry had been erased forever.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

“You don’t look so good, mate.” Weasley had followed him into the kitchen, making sure the door was shut behind them. “I think you need to take a break, maybe have a nice lie-down.” Draco knew that Weasley was trying to be helpful, but he couldn’t help but find the suggestion patronizing. How was he supposed to take a nap now?

“I’m fine.” Draco placed the lunch tray on the counter and turned towards his friend. Weasley looked tired, but not nearly as drained as Draco felt. The benefits of a good night’s sleep, he supposed. “I’m just tired, is all.”

“I don’t think that _is_ all, though.” Weasley stared at him, his meaning clear in his eyes. “Why didn’t you use magic to move the chair? It’s a simple spell first years can handle.”

Draco took a deep breath, trying to calm his own anxieties over what was going on. “I think that my exhaustion has also affected my magic.”

Weasley nodded as if this made perfect sense, which it did not. This had never happened to Draco before. “That’s understandable.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “It is?”

“Yeah, of course. I mean, it’s rare, but it can happen.” Weasley started waving his wand about and the dishes began to clean themselves. Draco wasn’t exactly sure how good a job Weasley was doing, but he appreciated the gesture. “You’re under a lot of pressure, you’re exhausted, and your wand is reacting to that. Nothing to be worried about.”

“Did that ever happen to Harry?” Draco swallowed his nerves. “During the war?” Harry and Draco rarely spoke about what happened during what would have been their seventh year. He was sure that was partly because the memories were simply too painful for Harry and partly because of how they’d hated each other at the time.

“No,” when Draco’s face fell, Weasley quickly added, “but he’s Harry.” 

Draco nodded. That was definitely true. Harry seemed to possess reserves of strength that were never-ending. Draco wondered if Harry, _his_ Harry, was trapped inside of Ned, if he was conscious of what was happening. He hoped that he was, and that he doing everything he could to fight back.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Draco spent the rest of the afternoon observing as Weasley cast this spell or that. Thankfully, Harry didn’t ask him why he wasn’t helping out. If he had asked, Draco didn’t know what he would have said. Certainly not the truth. But what else could he say? That he wanted to observe? That he was curious about the progress they were making? Or rather, _not_ making, as it didn’t seem like any of the spells Weasley cast were making any difference.

In the end it didn’t matter, as Harry simply chose to ignore him, focusing all of his energy on sitting on the couch and looking bored. Harry even managed to nod off a bit during Weasley’s casting. He woke with a jerk and looked at Weasley, who was staring at him with his mouth open, apologetically. 

Once they’d eaten dinner, prepared by Weasley, Draco excused himself. After listening to Harry tear up the flat the night before, Draco decided a few more wards against sound would be a wise move. By that time his magic had rested up a bit and he was able to cast the charms himself. 

When he fell into bed, the last thing he remembered before falling asleep was his door creaking shut. He only had a moment to wonder if it was Harry before falling deeply asleep.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

****  
_Day Two: The joys of potions and pizza…_  


Draco woke up late the next day to the smell of…pizza? 

Normally, when Harry was home in the morning, he’d make breakfast, sausages and toast, sometimes bacon. But pizza certainly wasn’t a breakfast food and more to the point; it was something that rarely ever made its way into their flat. Draco simply didn’t care for it and for the most part, neither did Harry. So…why was he smelling it?

Rolling out of bed, Draco caught sight of the clock on the bedside table and gasped. It wasn’t morning - it was well into the afternoon. They were eating lunch and he was just getting out of bed. Why had he slept so late? And for that matter, why had Weasley _let_ him sleep so late? They had work to do. 

He thought about going into the living room to ask why he hadn’t been woken when he walked past the bedroom mirror. His pale blonde hair was standing out in weird peaks and horns, and the right side of his face was covered in lines from laying on it. He must not have moved all night. Draco reached up a hand to try and flatten out his hair when the mirror said, “It’s no use, dear. Best pop in the shower and give it a proper washing. You’ll feel all the better for it.”

Draco hated to admit it, but the mirror was right. While he felt much better after a full night’s sleep, he certainly didn’t look it. In fact, he almost looked worse. So even though he hated to take the time, Draco jumped in and took a quick shower. The hot water washing over his skin felt marvelous and Draco wondered how long it had been since he’d properly taken care of himself. The past six months had been a blur of fear, worry and grief. Things were far from right, but just having Harry near, even if he didn’t know Draco, helped. 

When he walked into the living room, damp-haired but fully dressed, Draco’s stomach gave a loud rumble at the smell of the pizza. The box was open on the coffee table and Draco cringed at the thought of the grease soaking through to the antique. He could only hope that his wards would protect it from staining as well as breaking. Granted, he had put about five different kinds of self-cleaning charms and various protection spells on their furniture before Harry was even allowed near it; most of the pieces were, after all, antiques. But that didn’t stop him from worrying. 

“Well, you look better.” Weasley said as he pulled a slice from the half-eaten pizza. How many pieces had he had already, Draco wondered.

“Yeah,” Harry popped a piece of sausage into his mouth. “Loads.”

It wasn’t much, but it was the nicest thing that Harry had said to him in the past two days. It felt like nothing short of a miracle. “Thank you,” Draco managed. “I feel much better now.” Draco’s stomach growled again, this time much more loudly.

Harry snorted and grabbed a bag which he handed over to Draco. “Ron said you hate pizza, so we got you this instead. Enjoy!” 

Draco took the bag and sat back down in the same chair he’d occupied the day before. He’d thought about moving it back to its rightful place last night but changed his mind. He knew he’d just end up having to move it again anyway. And now, bag in hand, he was glad that he didn’t have to bother with it. 

Once he settled in, he reached into the paper bag to pull out a round, foil pan covered with white cardboard. He spread a napkin over his lap before prying off the lid. Normally he wouldn’t eat like this, off of his lap. But things being what they were, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Harry was there and food was food, no matter where it sat while he ate.

The second he pulled the cardboard top away, Draco felt his heart melt just a bit. Rather than being forced to eat pizza, they’d ordered him cavatappi pasta with marinara and what looked like extra chicken and extra mushrooms. Normally Draco preferred to make pasta himself, but he _loved_ the pasta from a little dive near the place Weasley had gotten the pizza from. Harry and Draco rarely made it towards that part of the city, but when they did, Draco _always_ ordered that exact dish. Now, if only he had…

“There’s garlic bread here,” Harry seemed to be rooting around the coffee table, which had gotten considerably more cluttered since yesterday. “Got it!” He tossed the bag and Draco only just managed to catch it, he was so caught off guard. How had he known? Surely Weasley must have told him… Right?

Not wanting to make a big deal of it, Draco pulled out the garlic bread and took a bite, the butter and herbs melting on his tongue as he bit into the soft slice. His stomach rumbled appreciatively and Draco caught Harry smirking in response. “Thanks,” Draco said after swallowing. 

Weasley began to babble on about the potions they’d spent the morning trying as Draco tucked into his dish of pasta. Weasley had managed to nick a variety of pre-brewed potions from the Ministry, swearing that no one would ever notice they were missing. Draco took this to mean that no one would notice because _he_ would be spending the next month re-brewing them so that Weasley could sneak them back into the store cupboard in the office. Normally that would irritate Draco, but not today. If a pilfered potion worked he’d happily spend the rest of his life brewing potions for Weasley. 

As it turned out, they’d tried twenty different potions, which explained the mess of empty vials on the coffee table, with no success. Some had turned Harry different colors, while others had made him glow and one had even turned him into a flamingo for a couple of minutes before turning him back. That, according to Weasley, had erased any last doubts Harry had about magic being real. 

_Well_ , Draco thought to himself, _at least there’s that._

Harry and Weasley finished with their pizza and got back to work with the potions. Draco sat happily in his chair, eating his pasta and watching their progress, occasionally pointing out a tip or a trick they should employ or laughing at something ridiculous. And, wonderfully enough, there was plenty to laugh at. 

As he watched, Draco decided that Harry seemed much more at ease today, not fighting against what was being done to him or making snide remarks. He seemed less like an unwilling hostage and more like a happy acquaintance. He looked so normal and comfortable lounging on the sofa that if Draco hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn everything was fine. It felt wonderful to see Harry like that, and for just a moment Draco let himself believe that it was real and that everything was alright. 

It wasn’t until Harry looked over at him that he remembered that _this_ person, was not _his_ Harry. There was no warmth or trust in his gaze, no knowing wink or smile. The look Harry gave him wasn’t the one he’d given him a million times before, so comfortable and worn that it felt like an embrace. Instead, it was curious and shy, a hint of a question masked by a subtle smile.

Oh, Draco had seen that look on Harry before, but it had been years ago. 

The last time that Harry looked at him like that, their animosity had been fading away, making room for other emotions and feelings. That look had always sent a thrill of excitement through Draco and he was amazed to find that it hadn’t lost its power over him. Truth be told, though, anything related to Harry would never fail to amaze him. For good or for bad.

Draco found himself smiling tentatively, and Harry did the same before turning back to Weasley. Unconsciously, he stuck his fork into the pasta, but his gaze was still on Harry. No, _Ned_ , because Harry had abandoned the shy looks long ago. This was a stranger in Harry’s body, but it still felt wonderful to have those brilliantly green eyes looking at him like _that_.

Weasley, unsurprisingly, had noticed nothing and was babbling on about the next potion that Harry was to try. Draco vaguely noticed the redhead handing Harry a bottle when Harry stole one more glance at him before tipping the vial into his mouth and swallowing. 

When Draco finally managed to guide the plastic fork into his mouth, the pasta tasted even better than it had before.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

It was well past midnight and Harry had just retired to the guest room. Draco waited for a minute, listening as he moved about, probably looking for some spare clothes. Draco had apparated in there earlier and placed a clean pair of pajamas and an outfit for the next day in one of the dresser drawers. He just hoped that Harry didn’t get curious and ask where the clothes were coming from. He wasn’t sure how Harry would take the news that he and Draco had been living together. But then again, after the look Harry had given him…maybe he wouldn’t be so upset by it, after all.

When he heard the shower start, Draco turned to Weasley, a million questions on his tongue. Weasley, however, was standing with his arms crossed over his chest and watching Draco like he was waiting to pounce. Which, as it turned out, he was. “It was his idea, you know?” The hint of a smile on Weasley’s face and Draco was desperate to understand why.

He swallowed down the sudden burst of nerves flooding through his body. “What was?”

“The pasta.” Weasley smirked. “I was going to make you suffer with the pizza.” Draco’s abhorrence of pizza was not a secret. “I was just about to place the order when Harry stopped me, said you didn’t seem like the pizza type. Thought you might like pasta from the place next door.”

Draco’s heart thudded in anticipation. “What are you saying?” His hand flew to his pocket - the pieces were closer together, almost forming the circle they should have been.

“What I’m saying is that _Ned_ wanted to make sure you had something for lunch. And that somehow, _Ned_ knew exactly what you’d want to eat.” Weasley dropped his hands and shook his head as if he could barely believe it himself. “I didn’t tell him what you’d want, Draco. I ordered it exactly as he told me to. Last I heard, that particular dish is a-”

“Favorite of mine,” Draco interrupted him, his voice breathy. “It’s my favorite.”

Weasley nodded like a professor proud of a student for finally catching on. “Exactly.”

Draco slowly sat down on the sofa, his mind turning and working, but not coming up with anything useful. “I don’t understand.”

Weasley sat down next to him and placed a warm hand on Draco’s slim shoulder. When he squeezed, Draco could feel Weasley’s fingertips pressing into his bones and muscles and wondered just how much weight he’d lost recently. “It means that Harry is still in there. He might be locked away, but he’s still _there_.”

**_Day Three: Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey…_ **

Draco’s mind reeled all night long, whether it was in dreams or him lying awake looking out the window in his bedroom. Weasley was right; Harry was still there, trapped inside of his body, or maybe his mind. How hadn’t he realized that before? That was simple: since they’d ambushed him on the street, Harry had been so contrary towards him. He’d acted much like he had while they were at school, instantly mistrusting him and turning to Weasley for friendship. The pasta he’d attributed to Weasley, never once thinking maybe it was Harry’s doing. The only thing, the only _small_ thing that might have tipped him off was the look they’d shared. But it had been _so_ long since Harry had looked at him like that that Draco hadn’t seen it as a possible sign that Harry was tucked away inside Ned’s mind.

Now though, the possibility that Harry was lurking just beneath the surface was enough to drive him mad. He wanted to be able to reach inside of Ned and pull Harry out, bring him back to where he belonged. But he didn’t know how. Spells, enchantments, they’d all failed. So had the potions. Everything they’d tried thus far had left them with more questions than answers.

Draco rolled over in his bed and looked at the clock. It was now six in the morning, and he’d been awake for the past two hours. Surprisingly, he felt wide awake, Weasley’s words fueling him into the early morning. Unable to stay still any longer, he rolled out of bed and stepped into the shower. 

He stood under the faucet trying to think up something new to try. He thought of calling on Granger, but she was as deep undercover as Harry had been - and even if she weren’t, she hadn’t been on speaking terms with Weasley and Harry for years. Draco knew that it was because of him, because of the bonds he’d developed with the two of them. 

At first, Hermione had begged Harry and Weasley to remember what Draco had done during the war, to remember who he’d been at that time. She’d also fought tooth and nail to try and keep Draco away from them, going so far as cornering him in his and Harry’s office one day. For a while it seemed like she would succeed in creating a wedge between Harry, Weasley and himself. But at some point she began to drift away from the group. Whether it was because she’d finally given up or because her life had become so separate from theirs, Draco didn’t know and he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when he got Harry and Weasley out of it. To be honest, he’d have been happy to just have Harry, but Weasley had become a very dear mate over the years, and his help with Harry recently only furthered their bond.

When he stepped out of the shower, the only thing he’d managed to come up with was breakfast. Yes, he would make breakfast exactly as Harry liked it, pretending that this was just another peaceful morning in the Potter-Malfoy household. He hoped that by bombarding Ned’s senses with some of Harry’s favorite smells and tastes, he might be able to drag Harry closer to the surface. He didn’t expect breakfast to be the magic that broke the curse, per se, but after what Weasley had said to him the night before, it couldn’t hurt to try. Could it?

Having lost track of what day it was, Draco checked the kitchen calendar. He felt stupid for having to do so, but with everything that was going on, what day of the week it was was at the bottom of his list of priorities. When he saw that it was Saturday, Draco grinned. Saturday always meant a late morning for Harry and an early one for Draco. Draco turned towards the pantry and got to work.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

“Mmmmm…” Harry’s voice, rough with sleep, broke through the sounds of percolating coffee and potatoes hissing as they fried. Draco, whose back was to the door, smiled softly as he remembered just how many times Harry, _his_ Harry, had entered the kitchen the exact same way. “Smells amazing.”

The small smile on his face had blossomed into a grin that guaranteed that Draco wouldn’t be able to turn around for a moment or two without looking like a silly idiot. Instead, he watched Harry’s reflection in the window. He was still dressed in a t-shirt and pajama pants, his hair a rumpled mess. When Harry yawned, Draco’s grin softened into something that could only be described as love and comfort. It was the look that one only gives their lover after years of shared joy and pain. It was complete and utter contentment captured in the soft lines of Draco’s mouth.

Before Harry had a chance to ask, Draco placed a mug of coffee in front of him. It was a milky brown, exactly the way Harry liked it, and Draco had even added his (disgusting) three lumps of sugar. How Harry managed to drink that sugary mess, Draco would never know. That didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was Harry’s reaction. Draco was desperate to see if his theory was right, if his Harry was as close to the surface as he and Weasley suspected. 

He tried not to watch expectantly, even going so far as to turn back to the cabinets that held the plates. An unfocused flick of his wand caused a large dinner plate to tumble out of the cabinet and crash to the floor. The sound of glass colliding with tile caused Harry to jump up and Draco to curse. It had nothing to do with the fact that he’d broken a dish and everything to do with how distracted he’d become in the space of a few minutes. 

Harry rushed to his side and quickly asked if he was ok. Draco nodded and quickly mended the plate; it zoomed into the air and landed in Harry’s hands. He turned the dish over, looking for any signs that it had once been broken. It was a strange thing, watching Harry Potter marvel over the wonders of magic. But Draco didn’t move or comment, he was too afraid of breaking the moment. Harry was right next to him, their elbows brushing softly. It felt so wonderful to be standing this close to him again, but it was also strange, like standing next to someone that might disappear if he were to move too quickly. 

“I still can’t believe that magic is real,” Harry said, handing the dish back to Draco. Draco turned to place the plate on the counter. When he turned, he caught sight of the silver chain around Harry’s neck. He’d been wearing it all week, the front of it tucked inside his shirt, a fact that Draco hadn’t really thought about until now. He wanted to ask what it was, but didn’t dare. The peace that formed between them was fragile and he didn’t want to break it, so he kept his mouth shut.

Harry must have been watching him, because the next thing Draco knew, Harry was stepping up to the stove. “Scrambled eggs and potatoes.” He leaned over and smelled the frying pan. “With garlic, lots of garlic. Oh, Draco…” Harry placed his hand over his heart like he’d just been given the most amazing gift imaginable. 

All Draco could say was, “Go drink your coffee.” He smiled when Harry complied, dropping into the seat he always took, even if he didn’t know it. 

“It’s perfect.” Draco turned to see Harry holding the mug in both of his hands, like he always did, like a small child afraid of spilling. One time, Draco had asked him why he didn’t just hold the handle like a normal person. Harry had told him that it was because he loved the feel of the mug as the heat began to seep into his palms. “How did you know?” 

Draco shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Weasley and Draco spent the day trying out as many archaic spells and enchantments as they could find in the books on Draco and Harry’s shelves. Around one, Pansy stopped by with Chinese takeaway for lunch and a few scrolls detailing some other rituals that might help. They didn’t. Draco didn’t care, though. He had his own plan of attack for Sunday, whether Weasley liked it or not.

**_Day Four: Remember when…_ **

It took a _lot_ of effort for Draco to convince Weasley that this was a good idea. Weasley had protested, saying that it would do more harm than good, not to mention waste a whole day, but Draco didn’t give in. They’d tried every possible spell, charm, ritual and potion they could think of and nothing had worked. Now it was time to try something a little less magical and little more muggle. 

Draco rolled out of bed bright and early and got to work. 

It was Sunday morning, which meant that Harry, if he were true to form, would wake up bright and early and ready for breakfast. Draco spared no expense, making eggs, potatoes, toast and muffins. He also had a large pan of bacon ready, but he wouldn’t fry that until exactly the right moment. 

Just like clockwork, Harry came stumbling into the kitchen at quarter after seven and plopped down into his preferred seat at the kitchen table. “Mornin’,” he yawned. 

“Good morning,” Draco said, not bothering to trying and call Harry by his muggle name. He wanted to remind him of who he was before, not of who he thought he was now. Draco flicked his wand and a coffee cup carefully made its way to Harry, followed by a plate that was heaped with everything Harry loved most. When Harry moaned in pleasure, Draco smiled to himself.

“This would be perfect if…” Harry trailed off when he saw three pieces of bacon, extra crispy, land on top of the potatoes on his plate. “Forget that, _you_ are a genius.” 

“This is true.” Draco nodded. He watched Harry eat the bacon first, rolling his eyes when Harry dropped it because it was too hot. Draco always waited until after Harry sat down to fry up the bacon so that it would be as crispy as possible. And Harry always, _always_ went for it first and burnt his finger in the process. 

So far, everything was going as planned.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

After all three of them had eaten, Draco took them out to the living room, where they’d spent the majority of their time. He’d moved his favorite wingback chair back to its place by the window; he’d even gone so far as to completely clean up the room. For the past four days it had looked like a bunch of fifth years studying for their O.W.L.s, rather than the flat of two fully-grown wizards. There’d been stacks of books and empty potion bottles, not to mention the pillow and blanket that Weasley had been using at night to sleep on the sofa.

When Weasley followed Harry into the living room, he let out a low whistle. “When did you do all this, mate?”

Draco didn’t answer, just shot him a dirty look. Weasley held up his hands in surrender, which Harry didn’t see. “Today, I thought we might try and jog your memory a bit.” Harry turned to look at him, his eyebrows raised in silent question.

“Like I mentioned before, you, that is to say, the _you_ that we know as Harry, used to be friends with both of us.” Draco stood with his hands behind his back, the broken halves of Harry’s ring in his palm. “In fact, you spent quite a bit of time here, in this flat.” Harry looked skeptical, but didn’t say anything. “We thought that-” Weasley cleared his throat pointedly and Draco rolled his eyes. “ _I_ thought that it might help to try and introduce you to what should be familiar surroundings.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair, rumpling it beyond salvation. “It’s up to you. I agreed to five days, it’s your choice how you use them.” 

It wasn’t exactly an encouraging answer, but it was a start. “Alright, then. The living room.” Draco spread his arms wide as if welcoming a stranger to his home for the first time. “Take a look around; tell me if anything seems familiar to you.”

“Ok.” Harry walked slowly around the room and Draco followed him, trying not to stand too close. Every time Harry stopped to look at something, or lingered for a moment, Draco felt his heart lurch. He was so desperate for Harry to make some sort of connection with the room, he felt as if his nerves were on fire. He wanted to step away for a moment, to take a deep breath, but he couldn’t bear to leave Harry’s side.

The broken ring in Draco’s palm felt warm, almost too warm. It was odd. He’d had the ring with him every moment of every day and night and it had just been two broken pieces of metal. But now… It was warm, not warm from skin contact, but practically hot. He looked down at in his palm and the ring looked the same as before, jagged and dull. When he looked up again, Weasley was watching him, a question on his face. Draco shook his head and returned his focus to Harry. “Well?” He said, his voice falsely bright.

“Nothing yet, but…” Harry’s voice, laced with subtle confusion, trailed off.

“Yes?” Draco couldn’t help but notice that even Weasley seemed to be a little more alert now.

“I…I don’t know.” Harry shook his head, like he was trying to shake loose a long forgotten memory. Draco prayed that he would. “It’s just, I have this strange sense that I have been here before, but then again, I know I haven’t.” He sounded worried and confused, and Draco wanted nothing more than to touch his shoulder, but he kept his hands to himself for fear of how Harry would react. “It’s so strange. I didn’t feel like this the other day.” 

Draco took a step towards Harry, trying to think of some way to prod his feelings into life. Maybe he could subtly hint to the real relationship that they shared? Or maybe it would be ok to touch him now?

Touch. 

He would touch Harry, finally. 

That seemed innocent enough.

Draco had extended his hand and was just about to make contact with Harry’s sleeve when he heard Weasley cough pointedly behind him. Harry ignored him, still looking over the bookshelves, but Draco didn’t. He let his arm fall and felt his face flush in embarrassment and disappointment. He knew that Weasley was right, that they couldn’t push this or make Harry feel like he was being bombarded by what _they_ wanted from him. It wasn’t fair to Harry, but more importantly, there was no telling how he would react. So far, Harry’s magical outbursts had been pretty much non-existent, save for the snitch figurine he’d exploded. But that magical energy was still within Harry and there was no telling what would happen should he get truly upset.

So even though it killed him, Draco took a step back from the only person he’d ever truly loved. He kept his back to Weasley, unwilling to see the look of satisfaction that was sure to be on his freckled face. If he were to see it, there was no telling how Draco might react. 

Harry walked around the room, his fingers trailing over book shelves and stopping occasionally to look at a trinket or a photo. Draco had removed all of the more romantic-looking ones when he’d tidied up the room. He wanted to get Harry back without upsetting him any more than was necessary. Draco thought that maybe this Ned fancied men, but he couldn’t be absolutely sure. So he’d moved all of their pictures into their bedroom - the one room that Harry had yet to enter since his time in the flat. And the only one that Draco wouldn’t let him explore today.

After circling the room, Harry came to stand behind Draco’s favorite wingback chair. It was old, one of the few pieces he’d kept from the Manor. It had a high back and arms carved out of a rich dark wood and the seat was deep red velvet. It was worn in places, and there was a scratch or two from the time that Harry had offered to watch Pansy and Weasley’s nightmarish kitten. It clashed horribly with the rest of the décor, but Draco loved it dearly and Harry hadn’t had the heart to say no to it.

The wingback had sat in his room from the time he was an infant, when his mother would sit in it as she sang him to sleep or hold him in her lap while she told him a story. When both of his parents had died and their home was put up for auction, Draco refused to set foot in it. He’d chosen a few pieces that he’d wanted to keep and Harry had retrieved them for him. The chair had been the most important. 

Now Harry was behind it, his hands placed on the back, slipping easily over the carved wood just like they always had. He stood there for a moment, his fingers clenching and releasing, like he was kneading the wood, asking it to answer an unspoken question for him. Draco stood still, his heart practically in his throat at the sight before him. How many times had Harry done that before? How many times had he come up behind the chair, placed his hands in the exact same spot, and asked Draco how his day was or what he was reading? 

Seeing him do it again, even if he didn’t know _why_ he was doing it, made Draco ache with longing. He wanted Harry, _his_ Harry, back. He wanted to sit in his favorite chair, a book open on his lap, and have Harry walk up behind him and lean over in a half-hearted attempt to see what he was reading. He wanted Harry to kiss him good morning when he came in for breakfast and slip into bed with him at night. He wanted their shared laughter and joy; he would even take their fights about now if meant that he had Harry back to himself again.

For just a moment, the whole world slipped away. Weasley wasn’t there. The rest of the flat blurred. All that he could see was Harry Potter who, for some reason, believed that he was someone else, standing with his hands clenched on the back of Draco’s chair. Nothing else mattered and Draco was pretty sure that nothing else ever would again.

When Harry looked over at him, Draco gasped softly. Harry’s jewel-bright eyes were shining with something so close to recognition that it made Draco’s chest clench. 

But that wasn’t all - when their eyes met, Draco swore that he felt the ring burning through his pocket.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

They did the same thing with the study, bathrooms, guest bedroom and kitchen. In each room, Harry had moments that made Draco swear that something was happening, that Harry was coming through more and more. But as quickly as those flashes came, they would pass, leaving Draco with a dull throb of emptiness in his heart.

For the most part, Weasley stayed quiet, only occasionally pointing out this or that. Usually it was something of importance to him. A picture of himself and Harry from their Hogwarts days, a tattered Gryffindor pennant that Harry found buried in a small chest in the study. It seemed like even though he’d protested against the idea of pushing Harry’s memories, he was just as curious to see if maybe it would work. 

This, after all, was it. They didn’t have any other ideas. There was no Granger to save the day, no archaic bit of knowledge to be found at exactly the right moment to make everything right again. As far as Draco knew, they’d tried it all. 

If this didn’t work, Harry would be gone forever.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

By the time dinner rolled around, they’d scoured every last nook and cranny the flat possessed, short of Draco’s bedroom. Harry had tried to go in, but both Draco and Weasley had stopped him. It seemed that at the very least, they were on the same page about that particular set of memories.

Every time Harry had gotten that far-away look in his eyes, he’d become quiet, refusing to answer any questions about what he was feeling or thinking. Even Weasley hadn’t been able to get him to talk, and that was saying something.

When they’d sat down for dinner, a simple beef stew that Draco knew Harry loved, Harry was all but mute. The only words he spoke during the meal were, “Thank you. It’s delicious,” and “Can you please pass the butter?” 

It was maddening, having him clam up when Draco could tell that his mind was turning over and over, but he didn’t push. Instead, he made polite, if banal, conversation with Weasley about work. He’d taken the past week off, making up some excuse for Shacklebolt. The only person he’d told the truth to was his handler and girlfriend, Pansy. And since he’d spent the past few nights on Draco’s sofa, he decided that he should probably spend the night in his own bed. Draco couldn’t blame him; it had been a rough week. He was probably craving some normalcy just as bad as Draco was. Draco could read the misgivings on his face, the worry about what would happen if he wasn’t there, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just smiled and nodded, telling him that was fine.

After dinner, Harry disappeared into the guest bedroom, leaving Draco to clean up the mess. Normally, Draco would have been upset if Harry didn’t help with the dishes, but tonight, Draco didn’t mind. Harry clearly had a lot on his mind and so did Draco, so he was content to let Harry be. 

For the rest of the night, Harry stayed in his room. Occasionally Draco would hear him moving around, like he was looking for something. Then, around nine o’clock, Draco heard the shower start up. It was amazing, he thought to himself, how he still acted like Harry and liked all of the same things as him, but wasn’t him. 

Unable to concentrate enough to read, Draco retired to his room around nine thirty. He took his own shower, using the time to think about what he’d seen today. There had been so many moments when he’d been absolutely positive that Harry was coming through. He couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he’d pushed a little more, given Harry a little more idea of their relationship, _maybe_ that might have done it. 

Then there’d been the ring, or what was left of it, anyway. Up till today, it had been nothing more than two pieces of broken metal, but today it had practically burnt him. That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Draco scrubbed his scalp a little more vigorously that necessary and swore when he pulled on a snarl. 

A snarl. 

That seemed to sum up his life at the moment more perfectly than he cared to admit.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

After a shower so long that the water had begun to run cold, Draco dressed in grey cotton pajama pants and a black V-neck t-shirt. He put the pieces of Harry’s ring in the small pocket that lay over his heart, sealing it with a charm so it wouldn’t get lost.

It was a chilly night, one that promised to bring snow very soon, and without Harry there to help keep him warm, it was going to be too cold to sleep comfortably. Rather than turn on the muggle thermostat, Draco decided to start a fire in the small fireplace opposite the bed. He stoked the flames until they were crackling merrily before sealing off the fireplace with a shield charm. The fire would burn until he put it out and would be unable to spread past the charm. It was much better than a muggle heater could ever hope to be. 

As much as his mind had been spinning, Draco thought that he was in for a restless night, but the second his head hit the pillow, he was out. He dreamed of Harry; their disastrous meeting at Madame Malkins, their run-ins throughout their Hogwarts days; all the way through to the moment when Harry told him that he had to go undercover. It was like reliving their entire history in the space of a single dream. At moments he was unbearably happy and others he was unbearably sad, as well as every other emotion in between.

The moment that Draco’s subconscious mind caught up with his present, he woke with a start. The first thing that Draco noticed was that his heart was thundering in his chest. The second was that he had tears streaming down his cheeks. Hastily wiping them away, Draco noticed one another thing.

He wasn’t in bed alone.

Sitting on the far corner of the bed was Harry.

He was hunched over, and in the soft light of the fire Draco could tell that he was holding a small picture frame in his hands. He could just make out Harry running his finger over the photo, the flames casting his face in stark relief. He looked confused, but also hurt, like someone had betrayed him. Draco stayed still, not even daring to lower his hand. What if he was still dreaming and this was just a trick that his exhausted mind was playing on him? His heart hammered away even harder, making it difficult for him to breath. This had to be real, he _needed_ this to be real.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry whispered, without turning around.

Draco swallowed, desperate to find his voice. “Te…” His voice cracked from disuse. “Tell you what?”

Harry lifted the picture a bit. From the way the firelight glinted off the frame, he could tell exactly which one it was. The frame was a simple gold edge, with small flourishes carved into it. Draco had found it in a small antique shop a year or two ago. He’d given it to Harry on their anniversary with a picture of them kissing in it. Photo Harry and Draco were clearly madly, hopelessly in love, their kiss half-laugh, half-serious as they pulled each other as close as possible. Neither seemed to notice the camera or the photographer as they only had eyes for each other. When they’d had it developed it, neither of them could ever remember it being taken. 

Before Draco had a chance to find an answer to Harry’s question, he spoke again. “That day I saw you on the street, I had this strange sense that I knew you, or that we’d met before. But I didn’t really think anything of it. I mean, that’s not really all that uncommon.” He paused and Draco found himself holding his breath as he waited for Harry to continue. “And then Ron appeared and you brought me here…” He shrugged, the soft glow of the room making Harry seem lost - which, in a way, he was. “I feel like I’ve been living in déjà vu-land for the past five days and there’s just no way to escape it.” Being as careful as possible, Draco sat up and moved to sit next to Harry. “And…” Harry drew in a deep, shuddering breath, like he was terrified of what he was about to admit. “I don’t know if I want to escape it. That’s the reason I agreed to stay, I couldn’t get past the feeling of…familiarity. I wanted to try and figure out why that was.”

“Harry…” Draco was so close to him now that if he were to shift the slightest bit, their shoulders would be touching. 

This time, he didn’t correct Draco, didn’t protest that his name was Ned. “I don’t understand, Draco.” He turned to look at him, almost nose-to-nose. “This isn’t real,” he lifted up the photograph as evidence. “We’ve never met. Magic isn’t real. I’m not some…wizard.” Harry swallowed deeply, and Draco was mesmerized by the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. “None of this is real,” he repeated and Draco wondered if that was because he believed it, or because he was trying to convince himself. 

For the past few days, Draco had been telling himself not to do _this_ or say _that_. There’d been so many times when he’d wanted to tell Harry about the life they shared or touch him on the shoulder. Every time, he’d told himself _no_ \- that it wasn’t right. But he was through doing what his mind wanted; it was time to listen to what his _heart_ wanted.

“I wish…” What didn’t he wish right now?” “I wish that I had all of the answers for you.” And for himself. “But the truth is, I don’t, and neither does Weasley. I can only imagine how this must all seem to you.” As those words came out of Draco’s mouth, he realized just how true they were. He hadn’t once thought about what Harry was going through, just himself. It was an impossible situation for both of them, and he was just now recognizing that. “What I do know is that _this_ ” Draco reached over and placed his hand on the couple in the photograph. “Is real. Or, it was, anyway.” As close as they were, Draco was able to make out the look of torn confusion on Harry’s face. “And I very much want it to be real again.” 

“What if I don’t?” Harry whispered. “What if I want to go back to _my_ life?” Draco could hear the confusion and hopelessness in Harry’s voice and his ached for him.

Draco closed his eyes, wishing that his eyes would quit burning. Tomorrow was the end of their agreed-upon five days. Draco had promised to wipe Harry’s mind and let him leave if they hadn’t found a solution. Now, mere hours away from that, Draco didn’t know if he had it in him to do that. He tried to think up something to say, something that would satisfy Harry, but there were no words that could soothe the ache either of them were feeling. “I honestly don’t know.”

“These past few days have been absolutely mad.” Harry chuckled softly. “I’ve worked in the magic shop for years, but I never believed in any of it. It was just a job, you know? A way to pay the bills. Then I met Ron and…” He looked at Draco, his eyes searching Draco’s face for what could only be the deepest secrets of the universe. “You.”

Draco couldn’t respond. What was there that he could say? What could possibly help?

“And I…” Harry’s chest rose and fell rapidly, a sure sign that he was upset. Without thinking, Draco reached over and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. He squeezed gently, the tension softening in Harry’s shoulder. “It’s just… I…”

“Shh,” Draco said softly, trying to put as much compassion and understanding into it as possible. Harry had never been easy to calm down; it was all about heading him off before he could get himself fully worked up. “It’s ok.”

“It’s not,” Harry turned to look at him; his eyes were bright, the flames reflecting in them. “After today, I don’t feel like I know who I am anymore. Who am I, Draco?”

Draco _wanted_ to tell him that he was Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world - but more importantly, that he was Draco’s boyfriend. But he couldn’t do that. “I can’t tell you that.” 

Harry pressed his lips together and dropped his head, causing his messy fringe to fall into his eyes. “I know.” He leaned into Draco’s touch, their hips and knees coming to rest together. To Draco, it felt so right and perfect, but how did it feel to Harry? Should he move away? Draco decided to stay right where he was, leaving it up to Harry. If he wanted there to be space between them, he would move. “Draco…” 

He didn’t hesitate to answer. “Yes?”

“Tomorrow…”

“I know.” Draco’s heart clenched when he realized how few hours he had left. Morning would come and Harry would leave. There was nothing left for them to try, no magical fix that would fill up that fifth day. This was it, and Draco felt more helpless than he had in his entire life.

“I just wish,” Harry swallowed and Draco could hear his breath hitching in his throat.

“So do I,” he responded. If asked, Draco couldn’t have said what that wish was, but he knew it was one they both shared.

“Just once,” Harry leaned closer to Draco, so close that his breath ghosted over Draco’s mouth. Their lips weren’t even touching, but it felt like a caress, nonetheless. 

Draco didn’t move or speak. He didn’t dare. He was afraid that if he did, Harry would disappear in a puff of smoke. The space of a few seconds felt like a lifetime as he waited for Harry to lean just a tiny bit farther forward. Draco knew that he would, knew that Harry would gain the courage eventually. He’d never once backed away when they were that close. 

“Draco,” Harry spoke his name like a prayer, enunciating each syllable with such care that Draco felt himself shiver. Before he stopped shaking, Harry pressed his lips against Draco’s so softly that it broke his heart. It felt like their first kiss, a question that would eventually lead to a lifetime of answers, a question that would take everything they knew about one another and turn it upside down and inside out before putting it back together, making them stronger and better.

The kiss wasn’t love. Nowhere near it.

It was an acknowledgement that _something_ was happening, even if they didn’t know what.

Draco pressed his eyes together so tightly that he could feel his pale lashes brushing against his face. But no matter how hard he tried to hold them back, he couldn’t stop the tears, tears he’d refused to shed since losing Harry. If he’d cried then, it would have meant giving in, and, strangely enough, it meant the same exact thing now. There was nothing left he could do; he understood that, so he gave himself over to the moment completely, reveling in the feeling of Harry’s chapped lips against his one last time. 

When Harry pressed forward, the questioning kiss became more confident. Draco responded, and his hand slid from Harry’s shoulder to the center of his chest. He could feel the faint echo of Harry’s beating heart, but he also felt something small and hard under his hand. Even though his mind was caught up in the feel of Harry’s lips sliding over his own, he remembered something. More than once he’d seen a flash of silver around Harry’s neck. The chain was fine, delicate, disappearing beneath Harry’s shirt at all times. He’d wondered what it was more than once, but now wasn’t the time to ask.

Harry leaned back slightly and Draco opened his eyes. The man across from him looked exhausted, but he’d lost the look of confusion from earlier. He looked resigned to…something, though Draco didn’t know what that was. All he knew was that he needed to keep Harry with him, in this moment, for as long as he possibly could. 

Wrapping his hand around Harry’s shirt, he pulled Harry forward, crushing their mouths together painfully. There was no finesse to the kiss, no gentle caresses of questioning, parting lips. It was hard and punishing, pure need from both of them. Draco closed his hand more tightly around the fabric in his hand and felt something press into his palm. A ring, he just barely managed to think, that must have been what was hanging from the chain. A ring…

Harry gasped softly when Draco pulled away, but Draco didn’t stop. He dropped his face to Harry’s shoulder, inhaling deeply, trying his hardest to commit Harry’s scent to memory. This was the last time, he told himself. He wouldn’t be able to have a relationship with this other person Harry had become, with _Ned_. Seeing Harry’s face, his smile, his body - it would all be too much for him to bear. Draco _needed_ Harry, and a copy of him wouldn’t do. 

“I love you,” Draco whispered into his neck, low enough that Ned wouldn’t hear it. It was silly, but he needed to say it to him, one last time. “So much.” He clenched the ring in his hand once before letting go of it. This had to stop before it went any further. A kiss was one thing, but he couldn’t go any further than that with-

“I love you, too.” The words were a harsh rasp, one that Draco had heard countless times before. Normally they melted his heart, now they broke it. He couldn’t stand to hear Harry’s voice say those words but not truly mean them. Draco’s heart thudded so painfully that for a second he couldn’t breathe, and he pushed Harry away.

Or - he tried to, anyway, with all of his strength. But the harder he resisted, the harder Harry held on, holding them together. Draco could feel Harry’s heart pounding in his chest, racing even more quickly than his was. And then, all of a sudden, it slowed down. The change caught Draco by surprise and he went still. Harry let him pull back just enough to press his hand against Harry’s heart. “I don’t understand,” he whispered, more to himself than Harry.

“I do,” Harry’s voice was gruff, filled with emotion that drew Draco’s attention. When he looked up, he felt himself break completely, all of the pain, the longing, the loss; it all flooded out of him, emptying him of the agony of the past six months. Harry was staring back him, recognition and love in his sparkling green eyes. “I always knew you’d find a way to bring me home, Draco Malfoy.”

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

The next morning, before Draco undressed to take a shower, he unsealed the small pocket that rested over his heart. He reached in, expecting to find two pieces of a broken ring. When his fingers closed around a whole one, he smiled. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can leave a comment here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/29932.html). ♥


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